


I Went To Space [ And All I Got Was Traumatized ]

by cluelesspaladin



Series: So, Does This Make Us Furries? [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blade of Marmora all over the place, But mostly Lance and Keith, Canon Typical Violence, Endgame Lantok, Found Family, Galra Keith, Galra Lance, Galra are just cats pass it on, Graphic Violence, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Mental Illness, Non-con Drug Use, Platonic everybody/Lance, Shiro is missing, The "Everyone is a Little Galra" AU, accidental galrafication, anxiety/depression references, blade keith, canon lion switches, canon-divergent AU, fluffy BoM space dads, lance is insecure, mentions of torture/references to torture, non-consensual modification of genetic code, platonic Regris/Lance, platonic hance, platonic nesting, shiro is found, slight existential crisis, this fic has art!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 15:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20010337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cluelesspaladin/pseuds/cluelesspaladin
Summary: For the record, Lance would like to make it very well known that today, and for that matter every other day this week, has been a complete and utter shit show.It was important to note in regard to the downright shitty situation that Lance had found himself in; if he’d been asked that morning if this was how he’d expected his day to do, the answer would have been a hard, vehement no. Not at all did he think his day would go to hell in a handbasket.-In which Lance has a no good, very bad day and then everyone else hops onto that train. And then it gets better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, allow me to say how incredibly blessed I was to be able to work on this project with some truly phenomenal people. 
> 
> Secondly, thank you so, so much to my artist for this event, [Light](https://dragons-and-cakes.tumblr.com/post/186609445439/title-i-went-to-space-and-all-i-got-was#notes), who was as excited as I was to create this content. Your art is a gift and I spent far too much time squeaking over its perfection. 
> 
> And thirdly, a profound and deep thanks to my beta, [meynara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meynara/works), who put up with a lot of my rambling and powered through the editing stage of this like a freaking champ.

For the record, Lance would like to make it very well known that today, and for that matter every  _ other  _ day this week, has been a complete and utter shit show.

But to recap:

The official spiral started about the same time that the five paladins had gotten themselves sucked into the whole alien war thing, and for Lance in particular it had only seemed to be a series of complex ups and downs since then.

It wasn’t  _ exactly _ a secret that he had some form of anxiety-depressive disorder, but he wasn’t inclined to disclose it to anyone. Well, other than Hunk, whom he had roomed with at the Garrison, and Coran. The latter the result of a “neural-chemical imbalance” that the Altean had noticed in a scan during one of many stays in the healing pods.

Self-esteem and Lance  _ appeared _ to go well in hand with one another, but as many should know, often it is those who smile the most who carry the most pain against their chests. Lance was certainly no exception. Nor Hunk, nor Pidge, nor Shiro or even Keith. They all had some measure of disability or defects, but they managed to make it through each day, somehow.

The point was, the week had begun - before that, even - amidst the beginning of an emotional spiral. Homesickness, coupled with several recent mistakes in training and the field, were beginning to wear on what sense of normality the Blue Paladin had managed to carve out for himself.

He knew that it wasn’t entirely their fault. Shiro’s disappearance  _ weeks  _ ago, followed by long days and longer nights in the thick of Galra fleets and fighting for their lives, ground down everyone to the last twitching nerve. Sure, Lance knew he could be a bit of a loudmouth at times, but how could no one see it was his way of trying to keep his head above the water?

-

Training was one of the only things keeping any of them sane nowadays. 

Not that he would point fingers at anyone in particular, but Lance was definitely referring to Keith in that example. Though perhaps  _ sane  _ wasn’t the right word. Preventing him from taking off in the dark of night on dead-end leads and rumors was the better example. 

Unfortunately, with Keith’s position boost from the Red Lion to the Black, his temper had not improved in the least. Quite contrary; he appeared to be even  _ more _ ill-tempered than before. Not that they blamed him. Much. 

Shiro’s intentions were good; honoring his request should anything happen to him, Keith would take over as the Black Paladin, yada yada yada...

Lance was finding it rather difficult to not harbor some form of resentment to their missing leader for that one. Whether the elder man had realized it or not, there was a fairly heavy personal bias that colored his relationships with the team. Most notably, Keith.

Lance was intimately familiar with the others as well. Just because he had a reputation as the village idiot - and yes, he was quite aware of how people perceived him, but what could he do but move along? - he was also the middle child of a large family, and if there was one thing that he was good at, it was watching people. 

Shiro didn’t quite dote on Pidge, but it was a near miss - her resemblance to her brother a significant portion of the reason. Hunk, well, it was hard not to love Hunk. He was just a big, warm teddy bear who had a tendency to mother hen over Shiro whenever given the opportunity. Probably because they were both anxious people, though Shiro less noticeably since his escape from Galra capture Level One.

But Lance? Aside from a handful of congratulations and one pat on the back following a successful shot in the field, Shiro barely spoke to him outside of missions or training. Read - Shiro was of the opinion Lance didn’t take anything seriously; thus, distributing his time accordingly.

It was fine. He’d gotten over it. Kind of. Not really. Okay, it was an ongoing thing. Especially after Shiro had disappeared from the Black Lion during their fight with Zarkon.

“Lance! Are you even listening to me?” Allura demanded, snapping her fingers in front of his nose. “Perhaps that hologram managed a heavier blow than I thought.”

“No, just fine, Princess!” he managed, plastering a smile onto his cheeks that felt as false as everything else about him nowadays. “Trying to clear my head.”

Right. He’d been trying to cover Keith’s back and he’d gotten bludgeoned by one of the holograms in the simulation. And then his mind had wandered.

“Yes, well, do it faster.” She frowned, brushing her long white curls out of her face as she straightened. “This is a training exercise. We need  _ all _ of the paladins to participate.”

Two problems with that- Shiro wasn’t here, and Lance knew that the statement was directed at him.

The smile dropped behind his helmet as she ordered them back into formation and started the simulation again.

-

Firstly, it was important to note in regard to the downright shitty situation that Lance had found himself in; if he’d been asked that morning if this was how he’d expected his day to do, the answer would have been a hard, vehement  _ no _ . Not at all did he think his day would go to hell in a handbasket. 

The cuffs were stiff against his cold hands as he was slammed down into a rather unforgiving metal chair. He’d already been backhanded once and cold-cocked by someone’s weapon twice, so he can only imagine how much less coherent and a tad on the woozy, perhaps dizzy, side of things he appears. 

And really, why is he even thinking of this in third person?

Maybe he’d been hit harder than he thought.

The day had… admittedly not started off terribly well. Another false lead on Shiro’s whereabouts had dropped morale to an all-time low, and Lance had tried to gently tell Keith that they couldn’t just keep running into the occasionally very obvious traps that the Galra were leading them into; which had gone over about as well as a bag of bricks to the head. 

They’d fought, Keith spitting some pretty foul things at Lance that drove deeply into his heart and stayed there, barbed tips digging into his lungs with each breath. 

How he didn’t deserve to pilot Red, not that he’d ever asked for that situation to come about in the first place.

How he never took anything seriously.

That he was all but dead weight to the team.

He knew Hunk recognized the signs of a meltdown, barked out something and pushed himself between the two of them, shielding Lance the best he could as he said in no uncertain terms to walk away. But perhaps the damage had already been done. He’d felt the brittle smile as it automatically appeared, made a show of shrugging it off and shoving his hands into his pockets.

Hell, he’d be okay seeing Keith’s face right now if it meant that the excruciating pain in his head would  _ stop _ .

-

_ Lance had, of course, taken refuge in Red after the fight.  _

_ Blue was on lock-down; she’d rejected their bond right after Black had chosen Keith. It still ached deeply in his chest every time he had to pass by the eerily empty hangar, his girl sitting there behind her particle barrier lifelessly.  _

_ Sure, Red had taken him in, but it wasn’t the same. Red was instinctual, passionate, fierce - so unlike the easy-going exchange of energy between himself and Blue. It wasn’t that she didn’t make the attempt to understand her new paladin, but it felt like a distance yawned between them that they hadn’t yet figured out how to breach.  _

_ Lance followed his instincts, but it wasn’t along the same methodology as Keith. Red was often at a loss whenever she tried to push for answers, for an understanding that Lance was unable to give. _

_ With the worst timing in the universe on all accounts, he was only left alone with his thoughts for a few minutes; the alarms blared across the castle as Pidge took over the comms, announcing another potential lead on Shiro. As if they’d never heard that one before. But, well…  _

_ What was the point of voicing his opinion when it was crystal clear how everyone felt about it? _

_ Lance forced himself to uncurl from his seat, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.  _

_ “Guess it’s time to go back to the fight.” he sighed, pushing himself upright to grab the unfamiliar red armor he usually left in Red’s cockpit. It was a reminder - a painful one - that he was the replacement, the one who was just holding onto Keith’s place until they found Shiro.  _

_ He valiantly ignored the prickle in his throat and the tightness in his chest as the armor slipped over his shoulders, Red rising to her feet; uncertainty radiated down the fledgling bond. Lance ignored it. The helmet over his hair was the final note as he forced ‘Lance’ into the background and the paladin he was supposed to be to the forefront of his mind.  _

_ The system that the supposed hit on Shiro had come from contained a massive floating base that pretty much screamed “trap!”, but Lance bit his tongue and did as he was told when Keith ordered him to scout it out.  _

_ Alone.  _

_ You know, because a suspiciously silent base was definitely meant to be explored without backup was a fantastic idea.  _

_ Red wasn’t a fan of the situation on either front - Lance’s bitterness toward Keith or her former paladin’s brusque manner toward her  _ current  _ paladin - and she made her thoughts on the matter quite clear as Lance pat her flank. He’d docked in a divot just large enough for the admittedly small and sleek Red Lion, able to clamber into a vent Pidge had vetted as okay.  _

_ “I’ll be back soon.” He promised before jetting out into open space. Red’s particle barrier flickered into existence with a low hum behind him, her lingering disgruntlement following him.  _

-

“Should we have a bit of fun with the paladin while we wait for the druids?” 

“I vote no.” Lance groaned dizzily, head lolling as he tried to quell the roiling nausea clawing at his gut. They have already, during his short stay with the pair, established that the paladin they have made for a halfway decent punching bag. 

“Quiet, worm!”

The blow landed hard and fast, armored knuckles driving the air from his lungs and possibly breaking something in the process. A broken wheeze escaped him as he curled inward on himself the best he could, struggling to suck in air that wouldn’t come. He thought he might have heard a low, feral growl, but that could also have been the roaring in his ears.

He counted the seconds in the attempt to regulate breathing to the essential bits that his body required - ie,  _ lungs _ , and noted several things as he successfully drew in his first few shallow breaths.

One, he was positive that he had at least one cracked rib. 

Two, he was definitely about to throw up. And he proceeded to do so, retching to one side as he struggled to catch a breath. Which sounded nice, in theory. In reality, he was nearly gagging on bile as his lungs rather unhelpfully tried to regulate the necessities of his body. 

You know, like inhaling.

Eyes burning, jaw feeling like it had been set on fire, every other inch of his body sore and painful in ways that he wasn’t even aware he could be; and yet, he found it remarkably easy to finally slump back and grinned impishly at the guards. 

“As lovely as you two are, would you mind running along and getting someone else to have a turn? Any commanding officers or druids running around?”

As one might imagine, the comment didn’t go over well. It led to the current red paladin being backhanded - again - in a usually tried and true method of getting someone to shut their mouth. 

A futile effort in this instance, as any of the paladins would tell them.

Lance’s tendency for idle chatter was legendary on the castle, but those conversations were filled with fond memories of home. Here, in the dimly lit room - bruised and battered and not in the least deterred, he was able to spew an admirable number of thinly veiled insults and downright cheeky retorts without pause. 

See exhibit A, Lance being beaten and backhanded several times over the course of their one-sided banter. Emphasis on the backhanding - he was pretty sure it was the default villain move. 

But he was dizzy again, slumped in his bonds as one of the soldiers leaned in toward him, but he was out before he could hear whatever they had to say. 

-

_ Red’s mental voice  _ roared  _ at the battlefield that greeted Lance’s vision as he cleared the ship’s hull, immediately brought into the fray by a harried shout from Hunk. _

_ As he’d suspected, the base was pretty much deserted, ringing all sorts of warning bells in Lance’s mind. That meant really only one of two things - either they’d cleared out, or they were hiding. _

_ As he had flown right into a warzone, he was inclined to go with option two. _

_ Briefly, Lance looked for Blue, only to remember that she was back on the castle and unable to fly without a pilot. She was offline from the moment Red had called to him, and nobody or anything had managed to get past her particle barrier. Which was insulting for a number of reasons, because one would think that having been her paladin before, she would have been okay with at least chatting to Lance every once in a while, instead of sulking as Red reported. _

_ Especially since it was so crucial at the time. _

_ Not being able to form Voltron because of the lion swap definitely sucked, though. _

_ “They’ve got some kind of cannon coming up!” Pidge said edgily, the sound of some kind of system running in the background of her lion as she took to the comms. “I can’t get a read on what exactly it is, but I’m willing to bet it’s going to be nothing good.” _

_ “That’s kind of a given in a trap.” Lance muttered to himself, pulling Red into a barrel roll to avoid several small blasts from a fighter coming up behind them. “Hunk, need some cover here!” _

_ “I can’t! I’m trying to keep Keith out of the thick of it!” the Yellow Paladin is even-toned, in that zone he seemed to find whenever he was responsible for keeping the rest of their sorry asses from being blown up by big scary cannons.  _

_ Alright then, not the first time he would be on his own in a firefight. _

_ “Fine.” he muttered, muting his end of the comms. He took in the broad scope of the battlefield, mapping out his course of action. Black and Red were still trapped behind enemy lines, so to speak, but Lance could see Yellow’s broad shoulders every now and again as the second largest lion barrelled through fighter ships like they were made of paper.  _

_ He started clearing a path out, taking the quickest route through the drones and their easily recognizable armor rather than the other, messier option. _

_ Oh, and Keith was down for a moment, Black lifting its maw in a roar- _

_ And Lance knew it wouldn’t have been fast enough, pushing Red to belch out a stream of fire that scattered the fighters like ants. _

_ No, focus on that later. Pidge and Hunk needed an escape route, and Keith needed to get his ass out of there before he had to rescue him again. _

_ Honestly, where would their fearless leader be if Lance wasn’t there to make sure he didn’t get his leg lopped off or something equally terrible? _

_ Probably just fine, actually. No, focus on that later. There would be plenty of time to mull over that thought once they were all well on their way back to the castle and with nothing to keep him distracted from his thoughts - _

_ \- A shot of something grazed Red’s face, her shot firing wild at another ship she’d been targeting near Hunk and Yellow. Pidge and Green sailed under it with practiced ease, unruffled in the least.  _

_ “You good?” Lance grunted, a hiss of pain escaping him as Red replied with action rather than words. It was a shallow hit, burnt but nothing that she couldn’t shake off. _

_ “Alright then, time to go.” He muttered, pushing the thrusters. It did the job as they wove through the throng, finally managing to get to Keith and Black and take a breather. It seemed as though Pidge and Hunk had also managed to make their way into the closer clusters of fighters during the chaos, and the tide seemed to be finally turning to their favor. _

_ Briefly, Lance couldn’t help but think of those stupid arcade games his younger siblings used to make him play, where the longer you played, the more enemies appeared. _

_ Same concept, right? _

_ It would be right about then that the cannon that Pidge had mentioned earlier fired. _

_ Split second decision. _

_ Lance and Red were moving before they could even think about it, throwing Black out of the way as they caught the blinding white blast head on. _

_ Time did that weird, blurry shift thing. Maybe he was screaming, maybe it was Red. The only thing he knew was pain, pain  _ pain  _ and the high pitched ringing in his ears as his nose slammed into the console and he knew no more. _

-

He came to with the memory of the low, threatening growl of Red’s maw surrounding him, feeling like he might have actually died for a moment. Or not. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have been in this much pain if he had.

Also, he felt like he had zero idea which way was up.

Oh, wait, no, that was right. The world was, in fact, turning as he managed to collapse on his apparently bad leg, pain spiralling up the limb to alert his already damaged brain that he was in more pain than he’d been in ten seconds prior.

Thank you, nerve endings, for telling him what he was already  _ well aware of _ .

His nerve endings currently felt like they had their own nerve endings, all of them turned into jello and then incinerated before being thrown into a deep dark hole full of ice. Maybe there was deep-frying involved, he didn’t know.

His mouth felt like someone had stuffed it full of a small herd of pissed off alcoholic cotton balls, his brain and side of his head and jaw aching something fierce as he rolled onto his side, curling instinctively into himself to ward off whatever other pain might await him.

Lance regretted all of his decisions in this life, he really, truly did. And if he ever felt the urge to pull a Keith in the future, he would ruthlessly remind his idiotic brain that this. Was.  _ Why _ .

Some light managed to work into his eyes, suddenly far more piercing than he could ever remember it being before, and it pulled a whimper from his chest as he tried to curl impossibly further into himself.

“So, there really isn’t anything you won’t do to get me talking, huh?” a low rasp of a voice said from somewhere nearby.

One eye pried itself open, flinched as the choice was immediately regretted. The cell was dimly lit, but it felt like the sun burning into his retina.

“Where ‘m I?”

“You should know.” The voice said, and Lance somehow managed to refocus his one-eyed gaze on the figure seated across from him. Galra, or hybrid, if he had to guess. Darker blue-violet skin that had a leathery quality from where he was sitting. A long tail that curled around one three toed foot, one arm held protectively to his chest. Flicking bat-like ears that curled elegantly up over pale amber eyes. “But then again, I shouldn’t have put it past you to play dress-up as a paladin.”

Dark amusement colored the tone.

“I don’t- I  _ am _ a paladin.”

Lance’s brain did not have the thinking capacity for this.

“Not unless there’s suddenly another Galra paladin.”

“I’m not-“

“And I’m the  _ Sxcrenvx  _ come back to life.” The other snorted, turning to shield himself from Lance’s gaze. “Better luck next time, quiznacking  _ spy _ .”

Confusion colored his thoughts as he shakily tried to sit up, wincing at the leftover aftershocks from the electric baton he vaguely recalled one of the guards brandishing. What was he talking about? Lance was human, from Veradero Beach in Cuba. On Earth.

His hands went to his eyes, immediately noticing something off.

_ Oh no. _

Panic set in close after confusion as his hands moved, following distinctly longer and fuzzier ears than he recalled having that morning. Realized how painful everything else was and catalogued the pain with each change he discovered, dread pooling in his stomach as the impossible slowly came to light.

Something was wrong, because if everything that had just happened was true…

It meant that Lance was Galra.


	2. Chapter 2

Hunk was pissed.

Moreso than that, he was absolutely  _ livid _ .

At himself, first and foremost, because he should have stood up for Lance today. Because, let’s be entirely honest; today had been a complete and utter  _ clusterfuck _ .

There was an equal amount of anger directed in Keith’s general vicinity - for pushing and pushing at Lance’s insecurities and crossing more than one line when he finally blew up at the Blue turned Red paladin.

Lance hadn’t been doing great lately. Hunk had seen some of the impending signs and tried to account for it, but evidently it hadn’t been enough to redirect the storm that had finally broken.

Being from a larger family, Lance held a lot of insecurities close to his chest, rarely openly showing his feelings when he didn’t think that it mattered. Losing the ability to pilot the Blue Lion and being thrust into the position of the Red paladin was something that continued to grate on him - especially when Keith had been the pilot before him. The same position Lance felt he’d always been in - in Keith’s shadow.

Give him some credit, he’s not blind when it came to Lance’s feelings regarding Keith. Or rather, Keith’s accomplishments.

Angry. He was supposed to be angry.

Hunk knew he could be a coward, but doing  _ nothing _ when the Galra had rendered Red offline, doing  _ nothing _ when Lance had been sent down to the ship alone, and doing  _ nothing _ before now to sort out whatever imbalances their team had formed since Shiro had vanished and their inevitable lion swap was nigh unacceptable.

So, the moment that Yellow touched down, Hunk had worked himself right back up into righteous mother hen fury, barely even registering that the Black Lion was curled in on itself, half collapsed on the hangar floor.

And then Keith stumbled out; chest heaving, barely able to stand as he ripped off his helmet and proceeded to retch violently on all fours.

Except Keith… didn’t exactly look like  _ Keith _ .

This Keith looked an awful lot like the photograph of his mother he kept tucked in his jacket pocket. (Which, by the way, Hunk  _ totally _ hadn’t accidentally stumbled upon when he was gathering up laundry to dump down the chute for cleaning. At all.)

Well,  _ shit _ . 

-

“This is  _ not  _ the Black Paladin.”

Claws dug into Lance’s scalp, twining into his hair as his head was forcefully ripped back, vision blurring as he tried to reorient himself. 

“Lady Haggar-“

_ “Silence!” _

A blast of heat next to his face. He flinched away from it instinctively, feeling most of his body ache in rebellion. A moment later, the grasp in his hair loosened. He couldn’t help the sag in his limbs, head lolling back down and his chin resting on his chest.

He felt hazy, distant.

Sharp claws dug into his cheeks, and he found his gaze meeting that of the druid. And not just  _ a  _ druid but  _ the _ druid. The one that made grown men and Galra alike cower in fear.

Haggar’s gaze narrowed as she studied him, as if he were a particularly interesting piece of dirt that she might have found under her nail. 

“Hn. A mistake, but perhaps one to our benefit.” She released him, shifting so that she was once again looming above him. “Proof now that the experiment was a success. The quintessence tuned to draw out latent traits hidden within their DNA. Take him to Bay Sigma. And do  _ not  _ summon me again until you have found something of use.”

Lance couldn’t help the low bark of laughter that escaped his chest as she vanished in a black cloud of electricity, everything about the situation so beyond the realm of fucked up that there wasn’t much left for him to do.

_ Of use? _

He was a paladin of Voltron. He was of pretty great use to anyone willing to earn a few GAC if they sold him out to the Empire. But if it was information on the rest of his team that they were looking for, they wouldn’t get it.

He would never, under any circumstances, sell out his team.

Even if his life depended on it.

-

Despite the fact that Hunk was still ready to rip Keith a new one over several questionable choices in his life, mostly the events of the day, he was willing to let that take a back seat as he sat on one of the stretchers in the med bay whilst Coran and Pidge talked coding over one of the healing pods. Several small scanners had been shredded for parts in the name of the greater good, courtesy of the yellow paladin himself to give his hands something to do.

Keith was currently curled forward on himself, a damp cloth pressed over his eyes as he took slow, deep breaths, wincing every time something clattered on the other side of the room. The lights had been dimmed the second that Hunk barrelled in, Coran almost immediately handing their current black paladin the equivalent of an extra strength Tylenol before telling him softly to have a seat before he collapsed.

Which had somehow led to this point.

According to the elder Altean onboard, even with Keith’s genetic heritage, there was absolutely no reason that something such as this should have been able to happen. Having grown up on Earth, the Galra DNA remained dormant, allowing his features to remain the same as the ones he was surrounded with on a daily basis.

Which meant that this change had been forcibly triggered. 

“Quintessence?”

“Likely in part, Number Five.” Coran hummed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Any form of exposure would likely have some effect, but to this extent, it would have needed to be something on a much larger scale!”

“Something like a big, terrifying mystery beam that Lance tried to block?” Hunk offered, dread pooling in his stomach.

“It was massive. Some kind of cannon mounted on the ship.” Pidge noted, eyes gleaming behind her glasses. “It disabled Red immediately - Black wasn’t responding very well to Keith for the rest of the battle either.”

“It hurt.” Keith said faintly, voice hoarse.

As much as Hunk wanted to be angry with him, it was pretty damn hard to stay that way when Keith now had a pair of fluffy Galra ears that tried to flatten themselves against his head as he spoke.

“Felt like something was crawling in our bond.” Keith continued with a shudder. “And then everything hurt.”

“Haggar, then.” Pidge’s lip curled as she spat out the name, grimly sharing a look with Coran. “If magic is involved, is there a chance something could have happened to Lance, too?”

“Without him here, Number Five, it’s hard to say for certain.” Coran shrugged, his shoulders dropping. “We can only hope that he holds out until we can find him.”

-

“Well don’t  _ you  _ look like the wrong end of a weblum.”

If Lance had the energy, he would have laughed. It didn’t feel like the incorrect assumption - he basically felt what the wrong end of a weblem looked, if he was being perfectly honest with himself.

Not to mention that his memory was spotty at best regarding the events that had led to him being brought back to the cell. Had he left? Or was the memory of clawed hands ghosting over his arms just another imagined moment?

Something was wrong. If he had to guess, they were probably wiping his memory - or attempting to - each time that they pulled him from the cell. A fear tactic if he’d ever seen one. And not the first time that he had been on the receiving end of it, either. The last time, he’d only been in captivity for three days. To him, it had only felt like a matter of hours. Even after being rescued and returning to the Castle of Lions, it had taken him quite some time to regain his bearings.

How long had it been already? Hours? Days? Weeks, even?

“’m fine.” He whispered hoarsely, trying to uncurl himself and lean against the wall of the cell. To his overheated, crawling skin, the decrease in temperature was soothing as bare skin brushed against it. 

“Uh huh.”

Lance pulled himself closer the wall, hissing as he jostled bruised and battered limbs, noting the suspicious bruises on the back of his hands that were reminiscent of a brief stay in the hospital when he was a kid and needed IV fluids.

He didn’t want to think too deeply on what that meant for him.

There was a sympathetic gleam to the Galra’s eye as he watched Lance’s attempts to gain some measure of comfort, huffing before slowly moving from his own place opposite him.

“You make this look far more difficult than it is.” He muttered as he shifted Lance’s weight onto his shoulder, easily settling in next to him. “Just don’t stab me if you do turn out to be a Galran spy, hm?”

“Not a spy.” Lance murmured groggily, momentarily prying an eye open as he realized he was not, in fact, leaning against a wall. “ _ Not _ a spy.”

He earned a noncommittal hum in reply.

He closed his eyes again, exhaustion tugging at him just enough he didn’t want to open them again, but not enough to sleep. He suspected some kind of drug at fault. He felt like that was something that probably happened, though exactly what he didn’t know.

The thought should have scared him more than it did, and it scared him that it  _ didn’t _ .

He was losing time. He didn’t know if he’d been drugged. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened to him. And his cellmate was as charming as ever each time he was thrown back onto the hard floor.

He just wanted his team.

-

One week.

One week since Lance and the Red Lion had been captured by the Galra, Keith had turned Galra, and they were no closer to finding any answers to Shiro’s whereabouts than they had before all of the lasers had started firing.

Whatever Keith had been hit with, it appeared to be permanent. He’d popped out of a healing pod exhausted and chilled, but no less purple and fluffy. He also appeared to have had some sensory differences with his change - ones that Pidge was all too happy to document, with assistance from Coran.

Hunk’s academic side was curious, oh so very curious. But the other part of him had been ready to finally voice his thoughts for days. And after training concluded for the day - how they made it without anyone losing their cool before then was a goddamn miracle - Hunk finally took his chance.

“You and I need to talk.”

Keith blinked faintly amber eyes up at him, his pupils thankfully the same strange indigo they’d always been, before nodding.

“Hunk-“

“No, this has nothing to do with him being fluffy and purple. This has  _ everything _ to do with being a shit leader and friend to Lance.” Hunk cut Allura off.

“What you said to Lance was completely out of line. I don’t care how pissed off you two get at each other, you said some shit that hit him in all the places that it hurt. And as his friend, I’m taking responsibility for part of that, because I didn’t see what was coming. And I should have. But I also should have had Lance’s back when he tried to warn us that this was probably a trap - again. We all should have had his back, instead of just letting him go solo on a ship that had a bunch of freaky druid traps on it.”

He was scowling, arms crossed across his chest. Very intimidating for the circumstances. 

“Lance has a lot of insecurities. A  _ lot _ . So you probably don’t get how hard it’s been for him to adjust to being Red’s pilot, or try to be the right hand of the Black Paladin, or even trying to keep himself from going insane lately. So you, throwing that in his face? I expect a pretty long winded apology when we get him back, or you’re going to have to deal with  _ me _ . You got it?”

Keith, to his credit, had hunkered down the longer Hunk spoke, ears pinned back and gaze fixated somewhere on the floor.

“Good.”

That done, Hunk finally relaxed, opening his arms and enveloping Keith into a firm bearhug.

“I don’t like being mad at you. I know you’re going through stuff too, man. We just gotta work together, not against each other.”

And if Keith sniffled into his shirt, Hunk wouldn’t say a word.

**-**

“Interesting.”

“Very.”

“Every time the paladin is given the option to fight or flee, he will choose to do neither in order to protect the other prisoner.”

“At his own detriment?”

“Is it so surprising? This is a paladin of Voltron. It’s amazing that they’ve made it this far.”

“Hm.”

Below the trio of scientists, two figures paced in circles around one another in the large, arena-like room. The suspected traitor, who had yet to reveal his true identity, and the paladin, who had fallen prey to Lady Haggar’s most recent experiment. Granted, the original target had not been the blue pilot who piloted the Red Lion, but nonetheless it was something. Expendable, too.

Regris paced again, tail flicking as he eyed up his opponent. There was a weariness setting into the other hybrid - for what else could it have been, if his claims to be a paladin were correct? They had been at this for several hours now, the other only moving to block critical hits to the face and chest whenever he struck.

It was endlessly frustrating on several levels.

Each day they did this - brought both of them to this slagging room and offered them the same opportunity. Fight, or flee. To flee would mean certain death, but to fight there were rewards. Not being wiped the second they left this place, for example.

But the other refused to flee  _ or _ fight. And every day the other would choose to do nothing. And every day, the other would be wiped after Regris was taken back to the cell, leaving him to think they were doing something else to him.

And perhaps they were - there were days where the guards would enter the cell and haul the other off to stars knew where, returning several hours later with the other drugged half out of his mind and whispering nonsense to himself. He would always repeat the same lines, often including “not a spy”. Perhaps referring to Regris’ first encounter with him.

He was beginning to suspect there was truth to the words. But that led to a larger question- if a paladin had been captured, had the rest of the resistance finally fallen? He didn’t think so- there would have been some indication by now, some form of gloating that everything that he had worked for had been for nothing.

The other stumbled, fell to a knee, breathing heavy as Regris’ last hit to the leg took him down. A fine tremor ran through his arms and wrists, the black undersuit he was clad in beginning to show signs of tearing.

_ “Get up.” _

The voice was over the speakers laid into the wall. One of the scientists, druid apprentices who had yet to earn the official titles.

The other appeared not to hear, sweat dripping from the ends of his crest onto the floor.

_ “Get up.” _

Several seconds passed, and then a sharp buzzing filled the air. A moment after that, the other shrieked, clawing at something at his foot as he collapsed, writhing from some invisible foe. Shock cuff, then.

A new addition compared to the past several days, and an indication that their captors weren’t getting the results they hoped for.

A low whine of pain escaped the others throat when it was finally over, panting as he attempted to push himself upright and hissing when his arms gave out from beneath him.

“I won’t.” he finally rasped, lifting his head. Regris had rarely seen a look so dark and full of promise - those he had seen had gone on to do terrible, terrible things. “I won’t do it. You can wipe my memories as many times as you want, throw me in here, torture me, starve me -  _ you’ll never get what you want from me, because I’m not giving up my team!” _

_ “You will break, paladin.”  _ One of the scientists replied, almost disinterestedly. The doors to the room slid open, their guards entering as they always did to haul him back to the cell.  _ “One way or another, even you cannot last forever.” _

Regris hid his reaction well, but over the last handful of weeks he had begun to suspect and come to terms with the fact that it was very likely that he was in the company of a paladin. Which meant that he had to have his team searching for him.

A brief flicker of hope lit in his chest. He may be one of the Blade of Marmora, but even he wasn’t ready to lay down his life in the name of knowledge or death. Call it the naivety of youth, call it his own personal brand of self preservation.

If someone was coming for the paladin, someone might also be coming for him.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Day ??  _

Not that he’d ever had much concept of time, but Lance lost track of what little he was able to grasp onto in the dark cell, his only comfort a Galra who could still, quite possibly, be ready to kill him. He wasn’t entirely sold on that thought, considering the ample opportunity he offered, the world frequently spinning in hazy circles when he was able to drag himself to lucidity.

Apparently, they weren’t willing to take chances with him; wiping his memory every chance they could, drugging him before bringing him back to the cell.

For all he knew, his cellmate was the one doing it.

Which he  _ probably _ wasn’t.

Actually, he wasn’t doing much of anything, other than occasionally moving over to Lance’s side of the cell and firmly resting his clawed hand around Lance’s shoulder, pulling him into his side with a protectiveness that was almost endearing. 

You know, if not for the quite frankly  _ terrible _ situation that they’d found themselves in.

-

_ Day ?? _

They didn’t wipe him one day.

His stomach rebelled against him the second he hit the floor of the cell - briefly noting his nails appeared to have elongated - as he tried to cover his mouth.

They were using him as some kind of  _ labrat. _

They took blood and skin samples; threw him into a sim without a way out and let him wear himself out, catering to their every whim until they put him under sedation; laying him out on one of their tables like a turkey dinner and tracing claws like knives along his sides, his legs, his arms, his stomach -- like they had mapped out every single way they could take him apart and put him back together again. (They probably had.) At one point, he was positive that one of them had mentioned ‘Champion.’

He retched, ducked his head to the side to the corner of the cell that neither of them really looked at, hated that it was hot acid clawing up his throat; hated the hot, aching tears that burned tracks down his cheeks, unable to stop the loud, heaving sobs that punched the breath out of him.

Claws tentatively ran through his hair and brushed it away from his face, his cellmate carefully crouched next to him as he offered what little comfort he was able.

-

_ Day ?? _

Lance felt like he was losing his mind.

Regris - a name barely breathed into Lance’s ear one particularly frigid day in the cell - was trying to count the days for him, but even he wasn’t immune to the occasional mind wipe. If neither of them knew how long they had been trapped in the cell, it would be harder to know if they would even be able to escape; hard to know how much they had eaten, if they had been drugged or beaten or experimented on.

It was endlessly frustrating, being so unable to get their feet beneath them to try and plan anything.

It seemed as though Lance was being drugged more and more often, the hours blurring in his mind. Sometimes he would wake in an unfamiliar room surrounded by looming shadows. Others he would find himself back on the castle. And others still he would find himself in front of the ocean, the waves lapping at his toes.

Reality was something that was becoming more and more infrequent the longer he spent in this cell.

-

_ Day ?? _

“We have to get out of here.”

The words were quiet.

Nonetheless, they both knew that it didn’t matter. The guards were stationed further down the hall, and there were no cameras in the cell itself.

Apparently, being held on a druid’s ship meant that there was little to no chance of escape. Or survival. They’d both learned, one way or another. The first time Lance had brushed against the door, he’d come away with a yowl, the metal crackling dangerously with energy as his tufted elbow smoked.

“How?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Regris looked determined, his eyes clear as he rolled his shoulder with a wince. He’d come away from some kind of torture with minimal damage - apparently the druids had been called away to Zarkon’s side, leaving only the soldiers to guard them. Their methods of extracting information were significantly more primitive, and in some instances twice as violent as any druid could hope to match. Regris’ shoulder had been dislocated and his eye bloodied by the encounter, but he still stiffly rose when they had thrown him in and proceeded to knock his shoulder back into place with a feral growl against the wall.

Despite the spark of doubt that was beginning to fester in Lance’s chest, he believed it. If nothing else, he would make sure that Regris escaped.

-

_ Day ?? _

The day he moved cells was the day Regris didn’t return from wherever the guards had taken him.

His new living quarters were hardly an improvement from the first - rather than three walls and the electric bars humming away, he was now graced with three solid walls and one terrifyingly mirrored one that gleamed in the dim violet light. He was now able to see every single change that had been wrought from whatever Haggar’s experimental cannon blast had done.

He already knew of the more obvious ones - the fluffy, arched ears that followed the lines of his skull. The tufts of longer fur that lined most of his joints; the teeth, which had left his jaw aching for some time, the faintly violet tinge that covered the almost invisible downy fluff that he’d somehow grown. Not to mention that his hair had taken on a dark purple tint. That was something he hadn’t known about until now.

Weirdest puberty ever, he would admit.

His eyes, thankfully, had stayed the same. The same shade of blue that had always looked back at him in the mirror. Something familiar in the unfamiliar features he saw staring back at him.

He turned his back on the reflection and drew his knees to his chest.

-

_ Day ?? _

He woke to find Keith sitting across from him, arms crossed against his chest and a dull stare levelled in his direction.

“Keith.”

“Lance.”

The word was chilled, pointed. Digging right back into that hole he remembered very clearly being gouged the second they’d begun to fight and pulled everything back to the forefront of his mind.

“Quite the mess you’ve managed to get into this time.” He continued, dark eyes tracing the walls of the cell disinterestedly. “Just another mess that we’re going to have to clean up.”

“I saved your ass out there in the field, didn’t I?” Lance bit back tiredly. He wanted to be able to stand, to bristle the way he wanted to, but his limbs were heavy and his eyes were definitely not cooperating with that plan.

Keith scoffed. “Yeah, and look where that took you. You and Red in Galra hands. Congratulations, Lance, you single-handedly crippled Voltron.”

Lance couldn’t help the bark of bitter laughter that came from him. Ignored the wet heat at the corners of his eyes as he stared Keith down. The words hit harder than anything else he’d heard from the temperamental pilot. What was the point of denying anything, anymore?

He decided to meet the familiar dark gaze, colder than he could ever remember it being.

“Better to be down a useless cargo pilot than the prodigy.” He said. “They actually need you, Keith. They never needed me. So don’t bother trying to come and rescue me.”

What did he even bring to the team? Useless jokes and a half decent aim? Yeah, they would be able to do just fine without him.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be.”

The curl of his lip reached something unfamiliar, something unlike Lance had ever seen on his face before. Something almost feral.

Lance couldn’t help the broken, bitter sobs that escaped him, curling inward in a pathetic attempt to hold the pieces of himself together. He was worthless, trapped in a Galra prison with no ability to escape and very little chance of being rescued.

Keith clicked his tongue.

“You’re a useless cargo pilot.” He says, tone gentling to something familiar, bordering maternal. “You’ll never make it to my level, Lance. But I’ll be sure to leave a few vacancies for you. Just like the good old days.”

He can almost feel the ghostly touch of a hand stroking his cheek.

“Lance and Keith, neck and neck.”

-

_ Day ?? _

It wasn’t always Keith he saw.

Sometimes, it was Allura.

Allura, who stonily stared him down - a contrast from the sometimes-fond exasperation that could be found on her features. Whispering in cold fury how he had disgraced her father’s name and legacy by allowing the Red Lion to fall into Galra hands a second time in this war. Curling her lip as her delicate features twisted into something foul, telling him that it was clear she had made a mistake in allowing the Blue Lion to choose its own paladin.

Then Pidge, interspersed amongst Keith’s all too frequent appearances. Moving away from him, telling him that he’d promised that he would help her find her family again before scoffing and turning her head to level her hawk-eyed gaze at him.

“Maybe it’s for the best. You never come up with anything worthwhile anyways.” She cooed one day, stooping to cup his cheek and look at him softly.

Perhaps the worst was Hunk. His best friend, platonic-soulmate, brother who he’d met early on in the Garrison, the one who had easily agreed to Lance’s affectionate, bordering on needy whims and done his absolute best to make him feel worth  _ something _ .

“I finally have some time to myself.” He sighed, leaning against the wall of the cell, looking relaxed. “All those years of taking care of you, and now you’re gone. Guess I have more time to do my own thing, you know?”

It was said with such a natural smile that it almost offset his words. A ruffle of his hair before he vanished, leaving him alone with his thoughts. It always gave him too much time to think, once his team left. But it was made all the worse that Shiro never appeared. Had they found him and left Lance behind?

Allura might be able to get Blue to work, if anyone could, he supposed. Or would Shiro take over and pilot Blue?

Would he simply wither away in the dark cell with no one but himself for company?

He barked out a laugh, meeting his own blue eyes in the surface of the wall.

Sometimes it felt like the gaze staring back at him through his reflection in the wall was a stranger’s. 

-

“ _ What _ , exactly, do you mean that you’ve only decided to share this intel with us  _ now _ ?” Keith seethed, staring up into the ever-unimpressed stare of Kolivan. The screen was blurred around the edges, static flickering now and then to signal that the connection wasn’t as strong as usual.

“Exactly as I said.” He rumbled, stoic.

Keith’s change in appearance had hardly phased the head of the Blades when they had first accepted the ping, save an arched brow and an offhand comment that went along the lines of “you look much like your mother”. Never mind that he was purple, had fluffy ears and sharper teeth than usual.

“It has been weeks, Kolivan.  _ Weeks _ .” He growled instead, resisting the urge to punch the communications board.

“The Black Paladin’s location was submitted to us prior to our contact being compromised. Thus, the information could not be trusted until we were able to confirm or deny its validity.”

It seemed a valid concern, considering the radio silence from the Blades for so long. Almost immediately after Shiro’s disappearance, word had spread quickly amongst Voltron’s allies, searches and contacts issued in hope that someone would have heard something about Shiro’s whereabouts. If the Black Lion had ejected him, or thrown him through time and space in order to protect him from Zarkon’s final hit.

Keith’s close relations with the Blades meant that they had been the first to send out agents and contact those already in positions of power within Zarkon’s ranks to look for clues. The current Black Paladin had even gone so far as to travel to the home base in order to cover more ground for several days.

Which was likely why he was now so furious that they had not deigned to even inform them of the possibility of Shiro’s survival.

Some rational part of his brain knew that the Blades had done it simply to not give false hope. If Kolivan had informed them sooner, what would any of them have done? Likely set out on a fool’s quest and played right into the Galra’s hands  _ again _ ; just like Lance had tried to warn them of.

_ Patience yields focus. Patience yields focus. Patience yields focus. _

He played it as a mantra as he took a moment to re-center himself, breathing in deeply before exhaling, forcing some of the tension out of his shoulders. The Blades of Marmora were close allies and - in literal cases - family. Despite their differences and methods of operation, they wanted to find Shiro just as badly as the paladins of Voltron, even if it were for different reasons.

When he felt slightly less inclined to cause some form of violence, he sighed and met Kolivan’s gaze again.

“What are our next steps from here?”

“We have one agent on a carry-ship nearby the suspected base that the Black Paladin is being held.” Kolivan informed him, swiping something with a clawed hand, features illuminated a pale green. “Our information suggests that it is a druid base - one designed for more…  _ experimental _ projects. The druid Haggar has been reported to visit regularly, meaning an extraction must be carefully planned if it is to succeed. Our current information has been sent to your data-pad.”

Meaning triple-encrypted and hidden under several layers of false information lest someone be able to hack into their secure network and discover something that they shouldn’t.

“I’ll review it and contact you after I’ve briefed my team.”

Kolivan inclined his head before ending the call.

Keith wanted to be angry, wanted to hold it against the Blades for not giving them the information sooner. But he couldn’t. Instead there was nothing but a sense of deep relief in his bones.

Shiro was alive.

In Galra captivity once again, but  _ alive _ .

Now he just had to survive briefing the team.


	4. Chapter 4

One of the very first things learned upon induction into the Blade of Marmora, no matter the age or skill, was “Knowledge or Death”.

The second was something more along the lines of “never let our enemies know our truths”, but to be fair Regris had never really been one to completely fall in line when it came to learning and committing every strange, cryptic and sometimes downright depressing motto that the Blade had collected into his brain. Even if it was mercilessly drilled into him by Antok’s less than tender methods.

Especially then.

He missed his pack. Galra, by nature, were stupidly affectionate creatures when they allowed themselves to be, and Regris’ pack was no different. He missed play-wrestling with Antok and gossiping with Thace and pulling Ulaz’s ear before taking off down the hall in order to avoid certain death. Above all, he missed nesting in their familiar mound of blankets and soft fabrics in the quiet evenings, warm and safe and cradled close to his family.

This assignment was his third -  _ had _ been his third - in regard to the Black Paladin. Regris’ skills in espionage had led him up through the ranks of the Blade quickly, the natural born gifts of his heritage and a smaller, hidden set of ear canals allowing him to hear several frequencies of sound. It was useful in the field due to his ability to find explosives and even more so amongst the soldiers on the ship he had been directed to, able to seek out every camera, failsafe trap, and sentry stationed without issue.

No, the problem was that he had fallen into complacency.

It wasn’t hard to do, after months of the same routine on the slagging ship, ducking the druid’s gazes when they were aboard, keeping his distance but still engaging with the rest of the crew so as not to arouse suspicion. Even checking the information banks on the computers was carefully logged and monitored, so keeping his small space-comm hidden had been an immense struggle.

It had become a pattern. One that he’d had to fall into in order to survive and keep his sanity.

And it made it much easier to slip up.

The next thing he knew, he’d been beaten bloody and tossed into a cell while the glitch-rocks they called guards attempted to hack into his communicator. Which had not gone well for them, considering that the thing was tuned entirely to Regris’ signature and the second they had tried it had self destructed.

Which had been  _ immensely _ satisfying to watch, he would admit.

They had not thought the same.

Wiping him at the time had not made sense- anything of use to a druid could have been seen as damaging the goods, so to speak. So, he’d been intimately familiar with the days passing in a small, isolated cell until one of Haggar’s lower ranking druids had stopped by for a chat.

Read - dug around in his brain until they realized that his thoughts had been firmly barricaded behind years worth of training and redirection.

They knew they needed Haggar’s presence, but if there was one thing that Regris knew about the Galra, it was the inherent, instinctive fear of Zarkon’s right hand. There were those who feared her more than they  _ ever _ would the tyrant king.

Things had not gone well for the soul who had dared interrupt her time at Zarkon’s side.

She had appeared, claws bloody no doubt from where she had gone about separating the offending druid’s head from its body, eyes narrowed upon his defiant form, before hissing and whirling on her heel. She knew there was some form of resistance dwelling amongst the ranks, but it was hardly worth her attention when the King of the Galran Empire was all but upon his death bed.

And so she had dismissed him, leaving behind one of her favoured few aboard the ship in an attempt to slowly wear down his defenses and crack open his thoughts.

Unfortunately for them - and him, really - it had not gone well.

Thus, he had been ultimately determined to be useless until he had been “taught” something - honestly, the details had been fuzzy at the time, what with searing hot pain flaring throughout his entire being. The next thing he knew, he was left to the tender mercies of the few interrogators on board, their only standing order that he was to be kept alive.

Which basically meant that if they managed to finally get something out of him, Haggar would be the next to sink her teeth into him. Likely physically and mentally, if the psycho-evil-witch vibes that radiated off of her were anything to go by.

It was about then that they started to wipe him. He was familiar with the sensation, Blade training including it the more undercover an agent was to be placed. And since Regris was one of the best to offer, he was  _ very _ familiar with how that tech worked.

He knew a day had passed if he woke to new bruises and little idea of how he had come by them. The soldiers would take him, attempt to beat out the answers they desired from him, and then return him to his cell with a wiped memory of the day’s events.

His markings on the metal wall, carved with his own nail, numbered in the fifties.

And then came the paladin.

At the time, the furthest thought in his mind was that this fellow Galra could possibly be a paladin of Voltron. Especially considering the only known hybrid was Keith, and Regris was fairly certain that that might have come up in conversation at some point. But the genuine confusion and then horror that had dawned on the other was a fairly clear indicator that something wasn’t quite adding up.

It wouldn’t be until much later that they realized the cause and thus the effect of it, but hey, that was a future Regris problem, and he was fully prepared to deal with it when it came to bite him in the tail.

But seeing Lance - the former Blue Paladin, he dimly recalled - alone, clearly out of his depth and having some variation of crisis at discovering that he might not be as  _ hoo _ man as he thought…

Well, his protective instincts rose up, and he did what he could. Despite the little voice that sounded  _ far _ too much like Kolivan that reprimanded him for even thinking of getting close to a possible enemy, he slowly began to learn about the paladin.

And it was nothing good.

It came to a head when they moved cells.

Or rather, they moved Regris to the other side of a one-way mirror, helpless to do anything but watch Lance’s mental spiral the longer that they were trapped in this place.

Which was the point that Regris decided that they were getting out of the ship; even if it meant his death. A little self-sacrificial perhaps, but they had already nearly lost Ulaz from their pack and damn near lost Thace too. He wasn’t about to lose someone else when he could have done something about it.

Especially not a paladin of Voltron.

-

Keith was fairly certain that whatever stash of caffeine that Pidge had discovered and subsequently gotten into was enough that  _ it was going to stop her heart if she didn’t stop making entire pots of it to keep her sustained. _

Granted, he wouldn’t hold her too much at fault. After briefing the team - which had gone about as well as trying to bench press a weblum one handed - the entire team’s focus shifted. Pidge and Hunk had gone about a divide and conquer sort of cooperation; in which Pidge began coding potential sims for Shiro’s possible rescue, while Hunk ran diagnostics on any and every piece of data he could get his hands on in order to find clues about Lance or the Red Lion.They were still going strong, given the fresh brew of the strange  _ tea _ , as it turned out the caffeine source was. 

(The information was ever so helpfully provided by Coran before the elder Altean went to find where Allura had vanished to.)

Following Lance’s capture, Blue had, briefly, stirred before once again falling still. The particle barrier surrounding her had barely wavered, holding strong despite Allura’s desperate pleas that they needed to find Lance before it was too late. Every night, the princess persisted, her voice echoing in the eerie silence, to no avail.

No one was willing to think of the potential outcomes their efforts could take. Shiro or Lance could already be dead by the time the team found them, or share an even worse fate. They had seen the things the druids and Haggar were capable of - if she were to get her hands on either paladin it could lead to something truly horrifying. 

Coran was becoming more and more of a maternal figure for everyone on board the more time passed; he ensured Allura wouldn’t burn herself out with her fussing and volatile mood, wrangled Pidge with an ease that reminded Keith vaguely of a snake charmer, and managed to spend enough time with Hunk in the darker hours of the night that his anxious tendencies weren’t as fierce.

When it came to Keith, it wasn’t uncommon to ‘happen’ upon Coran on his way to the training or observation decks, his cheerful mood ever present as he somehow always managed to redirect Keith’s attention elsewhere, even for five minutes.

It was almost reminiscent of how Lance used to mother everyone. 

Every time Lance crossed his mind, guilt sank its claws into Keith’s chest. He had a great many regrets - too many, even - about the way he had been treating him in recent months. Losing Shiro had been hard on all of them, but it had hit Keith the worst. Shiro had been the first… pretty much everything to him, offering a home, family, and understanding he hadn’t been fortunate enough to have growing up. 

Losing him once had been devastating. 

Losing him a second time was  _ agony _ . 

Regardless of how he had felt, he should never have taken his frustrations out on his team, and especially not on Lance. The current red paladin had only been trying to get them to look through a different lens in regard to the leads they were turning up on Shiro. That perhaps not every lead was  _ the one _ . 

He snorted at the thought; look at him now, locked onto Shiro’s position and yet still grappling blindly in the dark for a sign of Lance. He couldn’t even feel Red’s presence at the back of his mind anymore. Once always present, with their prior bond and as the Black paladin. He could feel all the lions, save two. One without a pilot, one missing somewhere out in the depths of space.

Someone, somewhere, was laughing at him.

He sighed, swiping tiredly over his face with his hands. The weight of the universe resting on his shoulders was perhaps a tad excessive, but no less true than the reality they found themselves in.

“You okay, man?” Hunk inquired, glancing up from his station, face illuminated by the blue glow of the data-pad he was currently tapping away at.

“No.” he answered, honest. 

None of this was okay. Shiro and Lance were missing, Keith was somehow the leader of Voltron, and it felt like the edges of his psyche were beginning to fray despite his best efforts. Oh, and he was still trying to come to terms with the fact he was likely permanently purple and Galra. That one was going to take a while.

Hunk’s features softened in sympathy.

“Hey. We’re going to get them back.” He assured, elbowing Pidge subtly.

“Yeah. We are.” She agreed, eyes not leaving her screen as her nimble fingers continued their oddly soothing  _ tap-tap-tap _ across her keyboard. “So stop moping, chinchilla.”

Keith resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the new nickname that Pidge and Hunk had coined. Likely due to the abnormally fluffy ears that he was now graced with. Instead, he settled with an unidentifiable noise that Hunk had called a “chuff”.

Personally, he had no idea what that meant, but he’d take it if it meant he was able to voice his displeasure.

“Pidge, what do we have on the druids base so far?” he said instead.

“Well, with the data Kolivan gave us, it’s a lot more than we would have without it.” She replied immediately, bringing up a file and flicking it up to project in front of them. “This thing is seriously reinforced. From what I can tell, there’s at least  _ eight  _ satellite blasters that circle the entire sector of space. Nothing gets in or out without them knowing. The walls look like they have some kind of monitoring system built into them too, so we wouldn’t be able to get in unless we managed to seriously announce that we’re coming.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, based on the overall shape and size of the base, I can estimate what the layout of it looks like if we compare it to some of the other bases we’ve attacked in the past.” She said, typing for several seconds and projecting the resulting images. Four other bases and ships, all of them similar in size and shape, combining to give them a rough layout concept of the current base they were tracking.

“Any ideas of how we’re going to get in?”

“Well, if I can figure out how to build a decoy satellite and copy it’s programming, we can get more information about the base. You know, like I did with Rover.”

“The only problem with that idea is that we would have to use Green and hope that there’s no one else out looking for signs of an ambush.” Hunk grumbled. “And we would have to disable the satellite before we destroy it, which could trigger an alarm for the  _ entire _ base.”

“So we’d have to do it quickly and without any of the other satellites in range.” Pidge agreed. “And this would have to be the first step, or the only one, depending on how the effort goes. This isn’t going to be quick, Keith. It has to be perfect, or we could lose Shiro permanently. Either because they kill him, or they whisk him off to another base God knows where.”

A long term mission.

“We don’t have much of a choice.” He admitted. “I’ll see if I can’t get more information from the Blade on those satellites, Pidge. Hunk, keep looking for Lance. Hopefully-“

Well,  _ hopefully  _ they would be able to get their missing team members back and fill the gaping hole of guilt that was Keith’s chest.

It had been noticeable even before  _ The Incident _ , the weird need to be close to his team and make sure that everyone was okay. But being alone in the desert for so long had made him squash those feelings like a bug and pretend that they’d never happened. Now, it was like everything was heightened. That same need was so much stronger than it had ever been before, and he was actually putting in the effort to get the small everyday touches that seemed like nothing to the others aboard the ship.

Then again, Coran had been looking at him with some kind of knowing look on his face, so maybe it had to do with the Galran side of his heritage. Probably. He made a mental note to get in touch with his mother in the near future and ask her about it.

There were just some things that one didn’t want to ask the leader of the Blade or an eccentric Altean who would very likely go into far too much detail than was absolutely necessary.

“Stop thinking so hard. You look constipated.”

He blinked, levelling Pidge with his unimpressed stare that had been artfully perfected since becoming the Black Paladin.

He now knew why Shiro looked like he was in pain all the time. It was because he was constantly resisting the urge to throttle every last one of them and throw himself out an airlock to avoid any and all adult responsibilities.

But, in a weird way, it worked.

Keith smirked, crossing the room easily to tousle the tiniest paladin’s hair, relishing in the indignant squawk that she made as she swatted at his hands.

They had a plan. One that would take some time, but a plan nonetheless. Shiro just needed to hold out a little longer, and then they would bring him home where he belonged.

And then they would hunt down the Galra who had taken Lance.


	5. Chapter 5

_ One Month Later. _

They’d stopped wiping him.

It had taken several long, agonizing days to realize it, but the moment that he had, a deep-seated feeling of dread took hold and sunk into Lance’s bones.

Hard to believe he even still had it in himself to get concerned about these kinds of things, but then again, there seemed to be a lot he didn’t know about himself these days. The short, jagged lines along his wrist were enough to tell him how many days it had been since they’d stopped wiping him. He’d tried digging in a claw to the metal of the cell, but that had done almost nothing and had broken the tip off one of the nails.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

_ Eleven _ .

Eleven jagged, taunting lines faced him down.

Lance knew that it meant nothing good for him. Likely one of the higher ranked druids was returning to the base, which meant that he was going to be getting some one on one with one of the most terrifying beings in the universe.

Other than Haggar, space puberty number two and the fact that he was a paladin tasked with  _ saving  _ the known universe. 

That one tended to throw people.

His chest ached at the bitter emptiness that Regris’ disappearance had left, a small part of his brain screaming that they needed their pack to stay sane. For the most part, Lance had been trying to avoid that small little part of his brain screaming at him. It was a new, unfamiliar thing, and he didn’t know whether the Galra that had done it or if it was truly a sign that he was losing what little sanity he had left to lose.

Staring at himself in the reflective wall day in and day out would be enough to drive anyone to insanity given enough time, he supposed.

His ears flicked back. The motion was instinctive, not for lack of effort on his part. He had spent several hours on one day the guards hadn’t come to drag him to a new room of horrors attempting to figure out the new muscles that had appeared out of nowhere to little success.

He could hear the low, persistent hum of something behind the walls - the sound was relentless in the emptiness of the cell. Rather than trying to find the source of it, Lance leaned his head back and did what he could to tune it out. 

Humming some nameless pop song that Pidge had gotten stuck in his head months ago did little to help, considering it just made him miss his team even more. Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer was also out - he’d done it the first day of lonely monotony and he’d been electrocuted by the cuff on his ankle at eighty-nine.

Apparently, the tune was  _ just  _ as irritating to the Galra as it had been to Lance’s parents.

Lance hoped Regris was alive. Granted, there was a part of him that had already acknowledged that it was likely he was dead; whether by his own hand or by interrogation, it was another person that he was unable to save. Another dock against him, another checkmark in red on his roster.

Regris appeared in front of him, too. Sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Keith, the paladin vanishing with a knowing tilt to his lips.

“I guess it’s just you now.” the Galra huffed, eyes roving over Lance’s fading bruises critically. “If I’d known a pitiful hybrid like you would have lead to my end… I should have killed myself the second I was found out.”

His tail flicked lazily across the metal floor, Regris’ claws tap- tap- tapping a staccato beat only he seemed able to hear.

“I’m going insane.” Lance said, legs curled tightly to his chest.

“Maybe.” Regris shrugged, smirk still in place. “But it’s the least you could do after getting me killed.”

It was then Lance saw the long, jagged claw marks appearing across the other’s face and chest, blood dampening the clothing he wore as he laughed long and low; becoming waterier and thicker the longer it went before he collapsed, blood seeping across the floor to his toes and staining him red. Even still, the low rasp of chuckling bore their way into Lance’s mind - no amount of closing his eyes or covering his ears able to drown out the image, the taste of sickly copper lingering on his tongue.

A whimper left Lance’s throat, bile threatening to force its way out as he tried to curl in tighter on himself, as if somehow, he could just become so small he would vanish from this place and return somewhere better. Or better yet, simply disappear.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,  _ I’m sorry _ -“

The words became a mantra as he choked on them, not daring raise his gaze and see Regris’ still body lying in front of him.

-

_ One Month Later _

__

“Black, checking in.”

_ “Yellow, checking in.” _

_ “Green, checking in. Castle, Blade, do you copy?” _

_ “Castle copies, Green.” _

_ “Blade copies, Green Paladin.” _

Keith only kept one ear open on the comms as the final check ins went out to the team, sudden anxiety plaguing him. 

It had been a long month of sleepless missions, programming and engineering feats and data monitoring. Pidge had successfully planted a transfer tracker on one of the satellites they planned on cloning - the first step in a long process that everyone was grateful had worked. In order to fully access the data and therefore the base without alerting the druids, Hunk and Pidge needed to build a new satellite that would be simultaneously attuned to the druids data as well as any incoming commands that Pidge would be coding into it. 

Following that came step two; replace the current satellite with the cleverly disguised paladin satellite and monitor transmissions regarding Shiro or ‘Champion’. Two weeks into the mission, Pidge had gone on an operation with two blades to replace the satellite, returning successful and with bolstered enthusiasm.

From the paladins perspective, it was nice to have something go their way for once. Usually, there were quite a few more hurdles than that to jump before anything got done. 

(And it definitely did not, under any circumstances, have anything to do with the Blade being involved in the rescue. Nope, no way. Not at  _ all _ .)

Kolivan had lent several blades to the mission. Of the group, there was only one Keith had recognized, having worked with them before, but names had hardly been exchanged. There was a blade assigned to each paladin for the final step in their plan; one that would require quite a bit of covering their six.

Keith and his partner for the rescue were stationed just out of the satellites range, perched on floating debris from some kind of ship as they watched the base below. He knew Hunk and Pidge were further out across the field, but unease for his team still managed to creep into Keith’s heart. Insecurities he had been trying to ignore for a month.

Would they get into the base?

Would it be Shiro?

Would he still be alive?

Or was this all just another elaborate trap for them to fall into?

_ “Alright. When I activate my satellite, it’s going to disable all of them due to the symbiote programming.”  _ Pidge reminded, voice strong over the comms.  _ “You’re only going to have five minutes tops before we have most of the personnel trying to shoot us down or coming out to play. I’m going to lay low and provide cover fire with the castle. Blades, Black, Yellow- you’re up.” _

“Copy, Green.” Keith replied before shaking out his shoulders and cracking his neck. The ears were still slightly uncomfortable under his helmet, but he figured it was more due to never having the issue before The Incident and did what he could to deal with it in the meantime.

_ “In three, two, one. Go!” _

Keith watched as all the satellites detonated themselves, Pidge’s the only left standing as it whirled to life with its own cannon glowing a bright green.

“Now!” he barked, thrusters pulsing from his jetpack as he and the blade threw themselves into empty space.

Inwardly, despite knowing that the detonation had also knocked power from the electrified walls, Keith was wary as they approached; the first beginnings of a fight were beginning to appear behind them with the first fighters entering the fray. 

They found their targeted entrance without a problem - a small vent barely big enough to fit either of them. Over the comms, the usual chaos of battle coordinating had begun, Coran and Allura both barking out orders as they divided their attention between targets.

Keith tried not to think about how tight the metal walls around him were as he crawled in front of the other blade, counting the panels he could see until they were able to pause and punch through with great pleasure. 

An empty hallway greeted them.

“We’re in.” Keith said, Hunk’s voice echoing the sentiment a moment later.

_ “Alright. The rest is up to you. The maps I have of the basic layout should be synced to your displays, but that’s all I have. Shiro could be anywhere.” _

“We’re going to get him, Pidge.” Keith promised, sharing a nod with the blade before moving out.

-

His mind was on fire.

That was closest coherent thing Lance was able to come to in regard to describing the sheer, all encompassing agony blooming outward from his head and seeping into his bones.

Lance had known the druid was coming, felt it in every inch of his being. He’d sworn that he would never allow them to get anything out of him. 

And yet, he was certain they had.

He had fought, of course - the second they had opened the cell door he’d felt a fire lit in his heart that was fueled by sheer and utter instinctive fear of what would happen if they’d pinned him down and pried open his most innermost thoughts.

The druid had come the moment that the soldiers had finished cuffing him to the rigid silver chair, no doubt looking every inch like a cornered animal. Every inch of hair and fur alike stood on end as it had appeared, electricity crackling in the air with dark promise.

If he was currently able of speech or cognizant anything, he would curl inward on himself to protect what little he was able.

There were alarms blaring somewhere in the hall, he noted distantly. It was the reason the druid had vanished, a snarl of rage on its lips; called away by whatever purpose there was and leaving the husk of the paladin behind. Maybe it was the rest of the team - but no, that wouldn’t make sense. If it had been, the druid would have killed him or brought him along as a bargaining chip - albeit a poor excuse of one. 

Maybe he was screaming. 

Wait, no, he was pretty sure that it was in his head. 

He  _ had _ screamed, that much he knew; he felt it in the burning sting of his throat.

Oh, no, he was still making some form of wounded noise.

Time lost meaning in the circle of pain, leaving him reeling and struggling to piece himself together enough to shake off what lasting effects the druid had left him with - pain pounding like a drum behind his eyes, tears forcing their way down his cheeks as he tried to shake himself off like a wet dog.

A heavy thud hit the door.

And then another.

The third indented it so deeply, he could almost make out the expression of the guard who had been posted outside the door.

He keened as another wave of agony crashed through his mind, no amount of shaking his head like a dog with a water droplet in its ear warranting any results. If he managed to make it out of this, he’d-

Well, he didn’t know.

_ “’nce?” _

The walls whirled around him at the mention of his name, blinking in an attempt to bring it into focus. Regris was crouched in front of him, his usually stoic features set firmly into concern as he made short work of removing the cuffs on Lance’s limbs and taking special care in doing something with his claws that removed the electric cuff on his ankle.

“Can you stand?”

He groaned as the other hauled him upright, room spinning uncomfortably quickly for his poor mind, and he near immediately swayed and leaned into the taller Galra’s grip.

“That would be a negative then. Slag. Okay, plan B.”

There were clawed hands around him, and then he was greeted with the sight of purple cloth as Regris hauled him over his shoulder, nose pressing into the column of his spine.

“This is going to hurt, but it’s the only chance we have.” He was informed, words trailing around him in spins and spirals Lance was certain were not supposed to do such things. 

Tail swaying, Regris moved swiftly, jostling the paladin as little as he was able as they moved into the hall. “All the druids on the base are gone. Something big is going on elsewhere, I guess.”

Lance huffed out something that might have been a response - or a pained whine - but his vision blurred a moment later as he went limp. Unconsciousness was hardly so kind as to take him, instead leaving him teetering on the brink; distantly aware of his surroundings, but unable to do anything about it. 

He knew that Regris was taking him the opposite direction of Red, muttering something about “being too risky” or something along those lines. He could pretend he felt a tiny connection to his lion, who had been silent to him the duration of their capture. 

He could tell when they’d encountered a sentry or guard; heard and tasted the scent of blaster fire when Regris jerked around, likely returning the favor with a vengeance. Lance heard the cry of pain as sizzling heat grazed his leg, protected in Regris’ grasp - heard another when a second shot caught the other in  _ his  _ leg, the smell of cauterized flesh sinking into his nose and reviving the ever-present nausea in his throat.

Lance must have drifted, because time did some strange warping around him. He blinked, finding himself being laid down against an unfamiliar material, quiet words filling the space between them as Regris moved away. His eyes remained lidded as Regris hunched over the console, typing in coordinates to somewhere - had they made it to an escape pod? - before collapsing next to him with a pained grunt. The rumbling of the engine underneath them was solid, something Lance’s abused mind could grasp hold of and anchor himself as he whined lowly in his throat.

“You’d better not die on me now, paladin.” Regris grunted, swatting at his leg half-heartedly as he leaned against the wall, panting. “I didn’t get shot for nothing.”

Lance hummed in reply, the pounding roar in his mind receding just long enough to register that they had made it to safety before finally, blessedly, blacking out.

-

Why, in the love of all that was holy on Earth and in the universe, did something inevitably have to go wrong on every mission the paladins seemed to go on?

“Get down!”

A blast went off somewhere over Keith’s head as he ducked, Shiro’s dead weight across his shoulders feeling like the weight of an entire ship. The blade that Keith had been assigned blocked a thrust from an angry druid; because why not throw what seemed to be every  _ single goddamn druid _ in the galaxy into the mixture?

Hunk was providing cover fire for Pidge, who had been forced into the fray by the fighters outside the base; the pair were still holding their own fairly well, down one blade from a vicious attack via a druid. 

(Pidge had immediately returned the favor with some kind of homemade explosive Keith didn’t want to know about, but that was another matter.)

Shiro, it seemed, was not just a prisoner on the base, but  _ the _ prisoner on the base. And a very well guarded one at that. The moment that the paladins had stepped foot down one particular hall and it seemed like Zarkon’s entire fleet appeared to try and stop them. But they hadn’t come so far to fail - not with Shiro  _ literally  _ in their grasp.

“Paladin, allow me.” The blade stated as Keith stumbled again, gritting his teeth at the ache that was settling into his joints. “You will not be able to carry him much further.”

The words grated on him, but he knew they were true all the same. He’d made it almost halfway back to their extraction point, where the castle and thus their lions waited, but debris was quickly building up and Keith had taken several blows from one of the druids staffs before managing to take it down.

Shiro hadn’t looked good, lying on a cold metal table in the middle of the room. It looked like an entire root system of wires, sensors and cords had been hooked up to him, trailing back into the ceiling like some twisted version of a tree. He still didn’t look terribly well, his breathing too deep and his pallor too pale, but Keith had already vowed that they wouldn’t let him out of their sight again.

Never again.

They made the exchange quickly and without fuss, Keith drawing his bayard and leading the way down the damaged hall. He was almost certain that one of the druids had been responsible for the partial collapse of the walls and ceiling, but then again, Pidge and Hunk both were dealing in heavy firepower not too far away.

“We have Shiro! Pidge, Hunk, on our six!” Keith barked out, relief evident as the pair finished their fight and fell into line. Hunk picked off the remaining soldiers, Pidge overcharging whatever sentries came within range of her bayard. It was quick, ruthless, and effective. However, it didn’t answer where the other druids had vanished, and it left a deep prickle of unease running through his gut.

There was little resistance remaining as they made it out, Black’s maw already awaiting his arrival as the blade followed him into the cockpit. Keith felt Black’s bond nearly singing as he reached out to the lion, felt the emotional charge as the head of Voltron reached back with the promise of keeping Shiro safe from harm while they were within reach. 

It made it final.

They had  _ finally  _ gotten Shiro back from the Galra.

Keith waited until all members of the team replied affirmatives, relaying the message to Coran, the Altean already prepping a pod for the eldest paladin. That business tended to, he slumped into his chair, hot tears of relief stinging the corners of his eyes. Thankfully, the blade either didn’t notice or didn’t care about his show of emotion, instead focused on securing Shiro to the emergency cot that they’d brought with them.

Shiro was his brother in all but blood. Losing him had been bad. Losing him twice was worse. From now on, it would not be another member lost from his family, or he would rip apart every Galra himself to find them.

He had done it for Shiro.

Now it was time to do it for Lance.


	6. Chapter 6

Waking to find themselves in unfamiliar surroundings shouldn’t have surprised any of the paladins this far in the game. Being away from Earth, the familiarity of their homes or even the constant schedule of the Garrison was enough at times. But as Lance pried open bleary eyes to find himself staring at a distinctly unfamiliar ceiling, soft fabric beneath his palms and the sound of someone moving around nearby, all senses jerked to attention. 

His body moved ahead of conscious thought, halfway upright before his brain reactivated and reminded the rest of his nervous system exactly of what he’d endured - particularly within the last several days. He went down with a raspy squawk, elbows hitting the metal below him hard and leaving him stunned for a long moment. 

“Calm down. We’re safe for now.”

It was Regris.

The Galra was in the midst of carefully wrapping his leg with charcoal grey fabric, wincing as he pulled it tight. Deep bags had settled under his eyes since the last time they had seen one another, rough gouges around his wrists that were barely hidden under the sleeves of the dark shirt he wore. Loose pants were rolled up just far enough that Lance was able to see some older and newer scarring that marred the flesh, partially covered by his current endeavors.

Perhaps sensing Lance’s stare, he flicked amber eyes up to meet him head on, silently asking a question.

“Where are we?” Lance blinked, head achy and sore like perhaps he’d been drinking as he sorted out how he’d managed to get here. His throat felt like someone had taken sandpaper to it and scrubbed thoroughly, and while he already knew his head was pounding, it threatened to be as severe as a migraine. Everything else appeared to be in varying states of mobility and bruising.

He tentatively pushed himself back upright, rubbing his now sore elbows with a wince as he took in the plain interior of the ship they found themselves in. It was rounded around the edges, suggesting that it wasn’t Galran in make, but aside from that there were very little cues to mark it as anything else, either.

“Empty space for the moment. I stopped at a safehouse to retrieve this ship and what supplies I could.” Regris replied curtly, tone softening as he glanced back up at Lance once again. “You… were pretty out of it for most of the last two sun-cycles.”

“Two days?” Lance managed, trying and failing to keep his jaw from hanging open. He had lost two days and hadn’t even noticed when Regris had no doubt hauled him from the first ship to their current one, either?

A nod as Regris finished tying the bandage on his calf, rolling the fabric of the pant leg down even as he was eying up another bandage wrapped around his forearm with a look of distaste.

“Withdrawal, I think. Whatever they kept dosing you with had to get out of your system somehow. And then the druid got its claws in you. I’m surprised you’re able to speak, considering.”

Lance flinched out of reflex, the ghost of claws in his skin and blinding burning fire fresh in his mind.

“So, what now?” he asked instead, fingers picking at a loose thread along the edge of the blanket he was situated on. It was an odd texture, something of a cross between silk and cotton, but it was soothing as he rolled the material between the pads of his fingertips.

“Well, considering that we just escaped from a high-level druid base, we’re going to have to make a run for it.” Regris hummed dryly. “They’re definitely not just going to let us go. Not when they need us for intelligence.”

“The druid-“ Lance started, flinching at the thoughts that accompanied the words. “I think they might have gotten something from me.”

“I figured as much.” Regris nodded. “It’s not your fault.”

“If I’d been able to keep them out, maybe I-“

“Lance, even I couldn’t hold out against a druid forever, and the Blade are trained for decaphoebs in mental blocking.” Regris said firmly. “You did what you could.”

A tremble settled into his chest, and Lance couldn’t help but go along with it. Regris sighed, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he stiffly hobbled over to join him in leaning against the wall of the ship, the low hum of the engine rattling through them.

“I’m sending out an encrypted signal for help.” He said quietly, sounding suddenly much more exhausted than he had a moment before. “Once the Blade catch wind of it, they’ll be able to send someone to bring us back to base. In the meantime, our only option is to survive long enough for rescue.”

“So what, we just keep running now?”

He wanted to be able to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but Lance could hardly find it in himself to care any longer. He was sick and tired of all of this. The war, the loneliness, the homesickness, the weird new Galra form that he’d been forced into, all of it. He just wanted to go home. Home to Varadero Beach and pretend that none of this had ever happened. That he’d never decided to sneak out and follow Pidge and get sucked into a war that he didn’t belong in.

“We can’t risk sending out a direct ping.” He shook his head. “The last thing we need is to draw the attention of the entire Galra fleet and compromise any and all Blade operatives still inside. Not to mention any others who caught wind of it and want some kind of reward.”

“So we run.”

“It’s not ideal, but right now it’s all we have.” Regris agreed tiredly.

Freedom perhaps was another, but the words went unspoken. Neither were willing to break the silence on the matter, but then again, who knew how long that they would be floating in empty space with little else but time and the other for company?

This could not possibly end well, if Lance recalled childhood trips with his family correctly.

He tilted his head back, relishing in the sensation of the cool metal against heated skin. He still felt off. Off balanced, off kilter, whichever worked better for the current situation. For the moment, rest sounded like the better option than trying to speak.

“There are med packs if you require pain relievers.” Regris said quietly as he did the same, eyes closed as he cradled his injured arm to his chest. “Enough to last quite a while if we need them.”

If Lance guessed correctly, Regris had already gotten into them. His arm and leg seemed to have taken pretty nasty hits, and he was curled around the injuries protectively.

“Thank you.” He said quietly. “For getting me out.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you behind.” Regris replied. “The universe needs you a bit more than the Galra do.”

It was a poor joke, but nonetheless it wrought a bark of laughter out of him, regretting the decision when his ribs protested the motion, but it was something. A little glimmer of hope in the bitterness of everything else.

He sighed, leaning his head against Regris’ shoulder, earning a quiet hum and a clawed hand running through his bangs gently.

“Rest now.” Regris urged. “I’ll still be here when you wake.”

“Promise?”

Lance hated the plaintive noise that accompanied the word, remembering that there had very recently been a time in which he hadn’t been there, that he had been alone and scared and in pain as he struggled to cling on to the last bits of his sanity and knowing that there really wasn’t anyone coming for him.

Regris’ hand paused, a hitch in his breath before nodding.

“I promise.”

-

“So help me God, Keith, if you don’t stop hovering over me I am going to take this datapad and shove it so far up your ass-“

“ _ Pidge. _ ”

“You know what, no. Hunk, you don’t get to say anything. We have enough food in the kitchen to last us the next month without needing to cook anything because of how bad you’ve been fussing. Sit down and help me monitor the data we’re getting in from the Beta-CX quadrant.”

Muttering from Hunk, followed by movement. The shifting of one of the stools unique to the med bay as he settled into it, followed by the tapping of the digital keys. Familiarity at its finest as Keith huffed out a laugh, weight shifting on the stool he was perched on as it creaked softly under him.

There was a hand on his own, calloused palm familiar but strange as fingers threaded his own.

“So much has changed, Shiro.” He said, breath warm against his cheek. “We’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Hopefully you won’t try and punch me in the face, but I don’t think I would blame you if you did.”

He knows that name, knows it should concern him but heaviness sinks its claws into his bones and drags him back into a dreamless sleep.

-

Shiro was in a coma.

The words still rattled around Keith’s brain as he tried to wrap his mind around it. They’d managed to come so far, and yet even now Shiro was just out of reach.

“I would assume it is, in part, alchemical.” Coran had sighed after a lengthy examination of their found paladin. Pidge and Hunk had done a thorough search throughout Shiro’s prosthetic to ensure that no sub-coding had been implanted, nor any tracking devices that could be later used and activated without any of their knowing. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much we can do for Number One now other than to wait and see. Hopefully, with time and rest, he’ll rouse himself.”

And yet, here they were, clustered around Shiro’s bed in the med bay as if he would just open his eyes and scold every last one of them for sitting around fussing over him.

Which they were, but that wasn’t the point.

Pidge had hauled in her setup of data analysing tech and was at it again with a vengeance, looking for any tiny clue or sign that the Galra had Lance or the Red Lion. Chatter had been picked up by one of their computers of a disturbance at another druid base. Something about several of the prisoners escaping without much evidence. However, nothing official had been logged, and there had been no mentions of the aforementioned base again, so it was slid into a file for later use.

Hunk, while he wasn’t stress baking or cooking in the kitchen, was right in the thick of it with Pidge, the pair of them hunkered down protectively over their screens.

And Keith? Well, he barely left Shiro’s side in the last ten days unless it was to retrieve food or shower. He’d even managed to avoid the training deck for the most part, though everyone else suspected it was in case the older paladin woke.

Shiro had lost weight since they had last seen him, dark shadows now embedded below his eyes. Aside from that he looked no worse for wear. As if he would just wake up at any given moment.

That wasn’t to say that there hadn’t been signs. Potential that Shiro was fighting back to the surface. Eyelids flickering here and there, the occasional twitch of fingers, as if he were only dreaming vividly. Hopefully of nothing that would cause him pain, but unfortunately, no one could say for certain.

Keith still didn’t know how he was going to explain his new look.

How he now resembled his Galra half rather than his human, and how they had just let Lance get taken by the Galra in the midst of battle. How they hadn’t heard anything about the Red Lion or her paladin, or that they had even  _ switched _ lions.

Keith had a feeling that one wouldn’t go over terribly well.

One of the only bright sides of the downright shitty situation they found themselves in was that Keith had finally managed to get in touch with his mother, who would be joining their crew on the Castle of Lions briefly so that they could brainstorm and figure out just what had happened to cause the abrupt transformation to him in the first place.

(They had a working theory on that, but no real proof to back it up, so it was still a work in progress)

He sighed, leaning his head on his hands and trying to ignore the background noises that were almost always present now, his tall ears flicking back and forth and no doubt attracting all sorts of attention from the other two paladins in the room.

“So cute.” Pidge whispered.

“Adorable.” Hunk agreed.

Keith dared glance over to the pair. Both looked awed, like they’d just seen a kitten with the tip of its tongue poking out between its teeth.

Which-

Wait.

No, he was  _ definitely _ doing that.

_ That was new. _

Hunk made a high, wounded noise in his throat, hands going to his mouth as Pidge tipped backward in her chair, eyes as wide as saucers as she tried to contain the squeal of sheer uncontained joy.

“I think we have been blessed.”

Keith nearly went cross-eyed trying to get a look at what his body apparently deemed as a completely normal thing to do, ears flicking back when he couldn’t.

Hunk and Pidge mutually agreed that their souls had officially ascended to another plane at the sight, the green paladin lucky enough to remember to snap several photos for scientific proof and evidence later when Keith vehemently denied any and all such events happening.

“I’m sending this to everyone I know.”

“Send it to me too, I want to make it my phone screen.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea.”

“You two suck.” Keith informed the pair sulkily, grumbling when all he got for his efforts was muffled laughter and soft coos over the photos Pidge now had in her possession.

“And you’re an adorable purple chinchilla. Sorry, cute overrules whatever you just said.” Pidge informed him smartly, in a manner that all younger siblings had down to an art before the age of three.

Keith was  _ really _ beginning to sympathize with Shiro and Matt the longer he was the Black Paladin.

He shook his head, resting his forehead once again against the cool metal of the bed, willing away the sharp prickling that almost always signified a stress headache. If he just closed his eyes for a moment, maybe Shiro would be awake when he woke.

-

It started with his fingers first. A slow tingle that was not quite an itch but borderline so as they curled against the warmth of the blankets beneath them. Slowly but gradually spreading throughout his arm to his shoulders to his chest, a low hum of heat that was immensely soothing as a low thrumming rumbled through his ears.

It was a distinctly intimate feeling, one that he knew as thoroughly as he knew his own name, but he struggled to catch onto the thread of thought as it spiralled away from him.

This was familiar. All of it. The low hum of a ship beneath him, the curve of the bed below his spine, the blankets draped carefully around him. Even the brush of the lions against his mind was gentle, Black in the forefront as it continued to assure him that everything was alright.

A shift to his left, a low huff of air that washed over the back of his hand. Soft strands of hair brushing over his arm as he tried to blink open his eyes but found them distinctly uncooperative. Made a small noise when he did, the dim lighting in his peripheral vision almost blinding.

“Shiro?”

He closed his eyes again, trusting in the sound of the voice of the other man, making some kind of odd croak as an affirmative.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” The other promised. But then came something very unfamiliar, as calloused palms ran over his flesh hand, the distinct shape of claws registering somewhere in his brain and ringing several alarm bells.

Shiro’s eyes snapped open, adrenaline flooding his system as he took in the figure seated next to him. Purple tinted skin, elongated ears, and the faintest gleam of pointed teeth as “Keith” fell back with a yelp as he pushed himself upright, prosthetic already humming warningly.

This wasn’t Keith.


	7. Chapter 7

The camera clicked on, rattling ominously as something bumped against it. The interior of a non-descript ship came into focus, clawed fingertips adjusting something while a voice hummed in the background. A small noise of triumph later, and wide blue eyes entered the frame, followed by a tired smile of victory.

“Alrighty, log one. Regris says I shouldn’t do this because it’s a liability, but if I don’t talk to someone other than myself or him, I might lose my damn mind way before anyone finds us.”

“Because it _is_ a liability.” Said Galra muttered from his corner of the ship, staying out of the line of sight on the small recording cube with great effort.

“You said it yourself, it’s just a recording cube. And you took it apart to double check, and then you triple checked it _again_ by trying to sync it up to the ship-“

Regris made a noise in his throat but said nothing more, crossing his arms over his chest and looking for all intent and purposes, a sulking child.

Lance rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the recording cube. Camera. Thing.

“Okay… sun-cycle number… nine. Since we started this road trip across the universe.” The paladin grinned, running a hand through the thick crest of hair that had filled out further since getting the opportunity to clean himself up in the small bathroom on the ship. “Regris and I converted days to sun-cycles and it’s something like one point seven Earth days to every sun-cycle in the part of space we’re in.”

He flashed a quick look over his shoulder, sticking his tongue out at his companion before exhaling. “Anyway, Regris is cranky because we’ve already gotten into two skirmishes since we escaped prison, and he’s paranoid that this thing is a piece of spy-tech, which it _isn’t_.”

“Could be.”

Lance’s eye twitched, but he remained composed. He had not suffered with as many siblings as he had for nothing, after all. He would remain victorious.

-

“Log four.”

A dark bruise was blossoming across Lance’s cheek, swelling under one eye grossly as he sighed.

“Another patrol managed to stumble onto us. Granted, we’re starting to get out of empty space now, so it’s a lot more likely either way. We’re both fine. Other than getting a couple hits in, I’m feeling okay. Regris is sore, and his leg isn’t quite healed up yet. His arm’s doing just fine, though.”

“You’re seriously still doing that?”

The recording cube was jostled, tilted to get a shot of Regris, still curled up in the pilot’s seat, re-wrapping his leg. Several new scratches and bruises marred his skin, one ear singed from a wayward blaster shot.

“I did tell you that I needed to talk to someone other than you, you know.” Lance muttered, rolling his eyes. “Or are you already forgetting that the last log I made you decided to start trying to rip my throat out with your teeth?”

Regris’ ears flicked back at the thought, growling lowly in his throat.

Lance hissed right back before blinking and realizing what he’d just done.

“Did I just go full cat right there, or was that some kind of weird hallucination that happened?”

“Just when I think I might have a chance at getting out of this without any more stress, you have to have questions about everything.” Regris sighed. “Turn that thing off.”

“Fine.”

Lance made a face, the cube blinking off.

-

“Log five. Still going by sun-cycles, kind of. Each sun is different so we keep having to do the conversion from Terran time to whichever solar system we’re in.”

Lance’s hair was beginning to grow out, already nearly in the awkward bangs-without-actually-having-bangs stage, and his ears twitched as the strands irritated the sensitive appendages. A tiny scar, still fresh, indented above his lip.

“Regris is off ship. We’re landed on a small planet that to the best of either of our knowledge is uninhabited. Something about being an old Galra waystation hundreds of years ago but abandoned because it’s so out of the way… I don’t know.” He shrugged, shoulders sliding inward. “We still haven’t had any contact with the Blade. I don’t know what I expected when we jumped into all of this, but I don’t think I ever expected this to be how my life is going.

We had to leave Red behind in that base. I can’t even feel our bond anymore, so I can’t tell if she has her shield up or if something else happened. I know that she’s still there. She made it with the Galra before, right? She’ll be okay until I can go back and get her.”

He offered a half-hearted smile at the cube before his features downturned.

“It’s hard, knowing that I’m responsible for Red getting captured again.” He said quietly, rubbing his shoulder. “Knowing that I’m the reason the universe doesn’t have Voltron. I figured out by now that at least some of the shit I saw while I was in that cell wasn’t real, but… it hurt some pretty deep hurts.”

_“Hey, Lance!”_

“Gotta go. I think Regris might have found something.”

The screen went black.

-

“Log ten? Eleven? I don’t know. It’s been a couple of weeks, anyway. Last log, Regris and I stopped at another Blade safehouse - I don’t even know why you call them safehouses when they’re literally barrels hidden on dead planets - to refuel the ship and take a breather.”

He didn’t look at the camera, and there was silence from behind the cube.

“We got into a fight. We both said some things, and I think we’re both hurting right now.” Lance continued softly. “I-“

He paused, chewing the bottom of his lip, before shaking his head.

-

“Stupid fragging thing, is this even on?”

It was not Lance the camera opened to, but that of Regris’ furrowed features, brows turned downward as he fiddled with something to the side of the cube.

“Log thirteen, I suppose. Since Lance is utterly charmed by this thing.” He muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing.

“He’s in the back cabin sleeping off the meds I managed to get into him before he could protest.” The Galra shook his head. “The fragging idiot jumped into the line of fire and got a dislocated knee joint for his trouble. And then even after returning to the ship, he refused treatment. Who _does_ that?”

He fell silent for several long moments, the low hum of the ship the only sound that the cube was able to pick up. Regris turned thoughtful further still, looking as though he were trying to solve one of the great mysteries of the universe.

(Other than Kolivan and Ulaz and Thace’s strange relationship/not-relationship that no one could decipher without getting one hell of a headache.)

“I know I shared a cell with him, but I think I learned more then than I am now.” He finally spoke, staring at a point of the wall above where the cube was stationed on the console. “He is… deeply troubled. By many things. His self worth, for example. I don’t know where to even begin in comforting him - though I don’t know why I would even want to. He isn’t pack, he knows nothing about me!”

Frustration colored his tone the further he got into his tirade of rambling, pressing clawed fingers to the lids of his eyes as he tried to center himself again.

“He is Galra. And he is young, and hurting, and alone and away from his pack. I’m going to do what I can to get him back there, but I suspect there is more than meets the eye in regard to his fellow paladins.”

-

The camera registered as on, but there was no one present in the immediate focus of the cube. Instead, Lance was hauling Regris over to the far wall, sitting him down before vanishing into the back cabin in search of their medical kit. The Galra was clutching his arm close to his chest, head tilted back against the wall and his eyes closed. His skin was ashen in the dim lighting of the cockpit, jaw clenched as he hissed lowly through his teeth.

Lance returned, features pinched, brows furrowed, dropping to his knees and almost immediately tearing open the med kit. Ignoring the weak protests from the other, he methodically grabbed everything he needed to staunch the bleeding of the stab wound that went through the entirety of his forearm.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” He muttered after tearing open a package of disinfectant patches with his teeth, single-focused on the injury as he carefully pried the limb away from Regris’ protective hold. “This is going to hurt.”

Regris winced, a high cry of pain rising in his throat as Lance began wiping the entry wound on the back of his arm. Despite the obvious worry, Lance worked efficiently and quickly, ignoring the piteous whimpers the other made as he went about his grisly duty.

The initial cleaning done, a quick-dissolve patch was next, intended to clot the hole that was now a permanent fixture on Regris’ arm, the paladin grabbing the antibiotic patch and slapping it on the first bit of available skin on the back of the blade’s hand. By the time the bandages were brought out, Regris was already dozing, skin regaining some of its color back as Lance got some of the strange sleeping powder-pill things under his tongue.

“Don’t you ever pull that shit with me again or I’ll be the one to beat your ass.” He threatened half-heartedly, slumping down against the wall next to him and looking far, far too old to be such a young man.

-

“Log eighteen. We made it. Sort of.”

Lance toyed with the blade in his hands - one he’d grabbed from one of the Galra pirates while he’d been in the midst of attempting to choke him out.

“I guess the Galra are pretty desperate to get us back, if they’re so willing to enlist the help of pirates and the like to do it.” He said mirthlessly. “Just when you think it can’t possibly get any worse... and then it does. We were doing okay for a while there, too. Who even _patrols_ in empty space? There’s literally nothing to find out there except maybe the odd old satellite or deserted planet.”

If by planet, he meant shattered worlds that looked like something big, mean, and definitely not what they wanted to run into even in their worst nightmares had come along and taken a bite out of them. He didn’t want to think about the beast that was big enough to wreak that kind of havoc on his best days, thank you very much. He didn’t need to make himself think about it on a day like this one.

“I managed to get my own weapon. Wasn’t able to get my hands on a blaster, but that’s probably for the best right now. My hands haven’t been able to stop shaking since I put a knife in that commanders eye a few weeks ago. So now I guess I’m really turning into Keith. Galra, sword for a weapon, weird roommate I didn’t know about until we were trapped on a ship together-“

“Stop rambling at that thing and please come lie down.” Regris groaned from the other room. “I’m exhausted, you’re exhausted, and if we want to get ahead of the next batch of bounty hunters, we’re going to need all the strength we can get.”

“Weird Galra roommate is calling me now.” Lance rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

-

“I don’t know if anyone is going to find us.”

The words were whispered in the dark of the cockpit, the only illumination from the dim console. Regris had angled the cube to face toward him, the camera picking up the dark discolorations under his eyes, the stiffness in his limbs as he curled himself up in the pilot seat.

“I’m a member of the Blade. I know that there’s a risk in never getting found, and that all of this-“ he waved vaguely around the ship- “was for nothing. Getting Lance out of that place might have been for nothing.”

He allowed his head to fall back limply, gaze staring at something on the ceiling as he heaved a deep sigh.

“Lance is sleeping. He’s been exhausted, since I’ve been training him how to use that sword he picked up a while back. I think it’s good for him to have something other than fighting for our lives to look forward to. Helps both of us let off some steam whenever we get off this fragging ship.”

He’d been noticeably quieter, too. Withdrawing into himself more and more the last several days and pretending that it was nothing when clearly there was _something_ going on.

“I know he’s empathetic. And I know that I’m not the… easiest… to be around. But somehow, we’ve made this situation work. And I find that I don’t mind the idea of him sticking around a while longer bothers me as much as it did when he was first thrown into that cell with me.”

A small smile tugged at his lips before he sighed again, reaching forward with a wince and tapping out several characters onto a keyboard, entering it into the system and coding it before hitting enter. Sending out another ping for extraction, praying that someone would be able to find it, and them, soon.

-

“Is it wrong that I don’t even care what log we’re at any more? Eh, who cares.” Lance shrugged the second the camera focused on his features.

He was curled up in the seat he had chosen for himself, knees drawn to his chest and chin resting on top of them. One was still wrapped in a brace that Regris had managed to scrounge up from spare fabric and other bits and pieces that Lance wasn’t sure he wanted to know the origins of, fashioning some kind of stretchy wrap that fit neatly over the dark, baggy pants that he’d finally succumbed to wearing.

Honestly, he should have been wearing them from day one, because despite the vaguely homeless vibe he got from them, they were light and airy and comfortable as hell.

Clearly, someone in the Blade knew what they were doing when these babies came into play.

“We’re in a super cool galaxy right now.” He offered, a small smile gracing his lips as he glanced over his shoulder. “Almost reminds me of the videos of the northern lights Hunk and Pidge used to show me back in the Garrison. It’s just… empty space, full of blues and greens and colors I didn’t even know were a thing? Which shouldn’t make any sense, because humans only have so many filters in their eyes-“

He stopped as the words left his mouth, blinking for a long moment before exhaling deeply.

“Except that apparently I’m not all human, so it would make sense that I could see new colors now.” He added. “It’s like I’m an entirely different person now. Or a jack-in-the-box, except that I don’t know what’s going to pop up next. Creepy.”

Abruptly, he was reminded of an eerie horror film his older siblings had made him watch on Halloween as a kid. Something along the lines of a creepy doll that possessed a kid until there was nothing left but a monster. It had stuck with him for the longest time, and he’d avoided anything doll-like with a vehement passion since.

But now that he was thinking about it, it was oddly suitable for the situation he’d found himself in.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just going to have a pity party for a minute.” He chuckled, swiping at his eyes half-heartedly. “I used to think that I was normal, you know? And then we found Blue, and we met Allura and Coran and got stuck on this giant magical space castle that happens to guard five giant space cats that may or may not be sentient - though I know for a fact that Red and Blue have distinct personalities and neither of them talk to me very much. Or at least with words. Red’s a lot better. Blue… I haven’t heard Blue since she kicked me out of her bond.”

He buried his face into his knees, breathing steadily despite the soft shaking that wracked his shoulders.

Minutes passed - the ship quiet save for the distant sounds of Regris moving around the tiny back cabin doing who knew what.

Finally, Lance lifted his face, cheeks damp with the remnants of his tears, and let out a low chuckle as he thoroughly wiped any trace of them away.

“And on top of it all, I’m part Galra. Isn’t that just the best part? All of this, and this late in the game we figure out that Keith’s not the only one who happens to be an alien. Hey, maybe it’s not just us - maybe we’re all aliens, you know? Maybe everyone’s a little bit Galra. Or Altean. Or whatever.”

He fidgeted with his hands for a moment before reaching out and turning the screen black.

-

-

It had been… approximately two and a half months Earth time since they’d escaped the druids and gone on their merry way.

Cohabiting space so small wasn’t easy, but neither of the pair seemed to mind for the most part. Most Blades were used to sharing quarters whilst on missions, and Lance had grown up sharing a room with at least one sibling at several points in his life, so they made it work. Not that they had too many choices in the matter - the only other options included being thrown out of the airlock, going back to the druids, or being captured by many, many Galra who were all out for their heads to take back to the druids.

So really, when it didn’t work, it didn’t work.

Again, not much options when it really came down to it.

“Logging on. Hey.” Lance greeted the camera, shooting off his signature finger guns and a cheeky grin. The purple and the feathery fine fur ruined some of the image, but Lance could admit that the ears were beginning to grow on him.

Literally and figuratively.

“Just a quick update before I head off planet-side. We finally got a hit back on that ping Regris has been sending out since we escaped, and we should be able to be in contact with a Blade soon with a location. We reached the planet coordinates we were sent, anyways, so that’s got to count for something. And hey, we’re even still alive! Bruised and a little sore, but alive!”

His hands were picking at some of the fabric around the hilt of the sword he’d commandeered, the blade lying across his knees.

“I have to admit, it’s been pretty touch and go with some of the Galra we encountered so far. The slave traders we accidentally ran into on the outskirts of a deserted quadrant was probably one of the worst. I’m glad we managed to rescue the people we could - and then we made sure those slavers can never hurt anyone again.”

And it wasn’t like he had killed them.

They’d just… left them for dead.

“It’s hard to believe it’s already been so long since I last saw anyone from the castle.” He whispered. “It’s… I haven’t forgotten them, but it’s getting harder and harder to remember what Hunk’s voice sounds like. Or what my room looked like. Or what the last thing we ate as a team was. Or even when we actually had everyone in the same room. Shiro’s been gone for a long time.”

He turned off the camera before he could say anything further, refusing to cry again.

-

-

It had been three days since touching down on their little planet, and up until right about now, everything had been just peachy-keen.

Kind of.

Regris’ injured arm, the one that had had a run in with a very sharp blade wielded by a rather vicious Galra general, was infected. The blade had constantly waved off Lance’s concerns, saying that it hadn’t been so bad, and that it was nothing that they couldn’t handle. And since he did change it and keep it as clean as either of them were able, Lance believed him.

He seriously needed to work on not taking people for their word, because Regris was a dirty stinking rotten _liar_ who had suddenly taken a turn for the worse that morning when he woke up with a fever and distinctly a distinctly unhappy hole in his arm.

And then, somehow, because of course the universe had to screw everything up, a Galra ship had to land to refuel and find them.

Because nothing ever seemed to go their way.

The good news was, the Galra were equally as surprised to see them as Regris and Lance were to see the soldiers, so at least it wasn’t just their day going sideways.

“So, got any bright ideas?”

They were currently pinned down on the back side of their ship, and had thankfully had the foresight to bring their weapons with them whenever they decided to leave the relative safety of the ship. Regris had a manual charge pistol on him that Lance couldn’t understand a lick of but could fire skillfully, while Lance had his conquered second hand sword that he wouldn’t be able to use unless he managed to get right up into someone’s business to acquaint them with it.

“Not unless you happen to have a grenade on you.” Regris grunted, forehead damp as he ducked around the edge of the ship, earning the graze of blaster fire for his efforts. “They’re just as pinned down as we are, but we can’t get out of this unless one of us manages to cut a way out.”

Upon realizing what he had just said, he narrowed his eyes at Lance.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late?”

A moment later and he was gone, Regris already yelling at him even as he started to take shots at the Galra popping up to try and kill Lance. His vision blurred at the edges as he jostled his injured arm, a violent hiss escaping from in between his teeth, but he refused to allow it to inhibit him now. Lance was ducking around the shots and the several Galra who were swordfighters themselves, somehow managing to look vaguely at home amongst the deadly dance he thought it would be a good idea to do.

Without backup.

Or rather, without backup he could use right behind him because he was an absolute _moron_.

But apparently this was the day nothing was meant to go right, because another small ship appeared above them in the sky. Reinforcement.

Exactly the kind of situation that Regris had been hoping to avoid the entirety of the time that they’d been travelling away from the prison, because once reinforcements arrived, the odds quickly veered away from the two fairly skilled Galra hybrids to that of the not so friendly trigger-happy soldiers.

_This day could not possibly get any worse._


	8. Chapter 8

The moment that the Blade had received a distress ping in Regris’ personal code, Ulaz and Antok both immediately demanded to be sent out on the retrieval mission.

Despite Kolivan’s immediate desire to tell Ulaz no, under any circumstances, it was clear that their medic was having no part of his argument. And despite  _ not _ being cleared for active duty following his near-death at the doing of Haggar’s robeast, he showed very little inclination that he cared a fragging  _ whit _ of what Kolivan thought. (Which was quite a bit, quite loudly, in the middle of the command deck).

Regris had been missing for months, assumed dead after his mission was compromised. And although they had managed to pass along the needed information in order to rescue the Black Paladin, it seemed a small comfort to what they had lost. But now there was this. Despite their training and the constant reminders to not get attached too closely to anyone, packs were formed, bonds were made and every loss hit hard to one or another.

Regardless of his noticeable limp, the deep scarring running from one shoulder down to the knee of the opposite leg, the other replaced by a prosthetic at the knee, the twinges and spasms in the muscles of his arms, Ulaz was fierce as he stormed the communications deck in search of Antok.

Thace dutifully pointed him in the correct direction, sighing at the recklessness of one of his partners, knowing that there was little he would be able to do to sway Ulaz’s mind either.

Antok had been the one to find the tiny kit, half buried under debris on a refugee planet the Galra had destroyed in search of resources. So tiny, the youngling had been whimpering piteously by the time the behemoth heaved the final rock off of him, so uncertain of how to handle the tiny, tiny creature. Thankfully Ulaz had been present, lest Antok short-circuit his own brain with how endearingly panicked he was over the kit’s condition.

They had brought the kit into their pack, Ulaz determined to fight Kolivan if he dared attempt to send the tiny thing away. After all, in the midst of a war, there was little time and few places for one so young to be involved.

And there  _ had _ been fighting, once Ulaz informed Kolivan that they were keeping the youngling. Where was he to go, after all? Galra were hardly the most hospitable of creatures to start with, and with no known relations and a decimated planet the only home the little one had known, Kolivan had had little choice but to submit.

Luckily, Ulaz was frequently on base, being the chief medical officer, so Regris, as he was aptly named, stayed with him there. Being largely pack-based in nature, few of the agents on the base protested the new addition to the med bay, quickly becoming endeared to the tiny tailed kit who trailed Ulaz like a lost yupper pup.

When not with Ulaz, Antok would take him in, teaching him all he needed to know as his tail grew into a full-length menace, teaching him the beginnings of hand to hand, and simply creating a home for him. Far too often, a Blade would come across a nested Antok, the tiny tips of indigo ears the only indication that Regris was with him, what with how closely he cradled him.

The pair had essentially raised him; Thace became closer in orbit once he had returned from a deep operation and come face to face with the curious kit one night as he attempted to crawl into the pack’s nest.

That was a tale still told if one were able to get liquors into any of the pack.

So no, Antok and Ulaz immediately demanding this particular retrieval surprised no one on base. It did, however, lead to several other blades volunteering, particularly once the full decoded message was received.

_ Escaped druid prison. Have paladin of Voltron. Require extraction. Coordinates as follows. _

The same message, received as the ship log was able to send and receive them, several at once with varying coordinates. The first dated to more than twenty sun-cycles prior.

“We have the last known coordinates. Kolivan sent them a location to meet.” Ulaz said the moment he found Antok, already packed and loading his small gear back into one of the unmarked ships the Blade were known for.

The larger of the pair nodded, tail flicking as he finished his current task and moved to a final once-over of the ship. A low rumble of curiosity left him as he began peeling open a control panel, tilting his head in Ulaz’s direction.

“Of course, Kolivan would tell me to stay behind.” He muttered. “But he’s essentially our kit, Antok.”

That earned him a Look.

“Don’t you start too.” He growled, ears flicking back. “I am completely capable of retrieving our irresponsible kit.”

Even through the mask, Ulaz could see the way his gaze shifted to his prosthetic, the way that he was silently judging his decision but not actually attempting to stop him. Which was probably for the best, considering that if anyone else decided to get in his way he just might throw them into the sun.

Another warning growl left him as he hauled himself into the cockpit, seating himself in the small space and beginning to manually start up and check the systems that Antok was currently inspecting. Having pack members hovering and fretting over him was seriously beginning to grind on his last nerve, despite it being many, many solar-cycles since the incident happened by now.

The final member of their unit joined them not long after, and as soon as Antok finished the final round around the craft they were on their way. The star system the signal had come from would take them at least four sun-cycles to reach, considering the hidden paths they would have to take in order to avoid the main fleet still thickly amassed around their star system.

Antok’s heavy claws gently touched his shoulder, enough pressure to comfort but not enough to stifle. He was just as concerned, Ulaz knew, as any of the others on base. Even Tiveda, the third of their retrieval team, had seen Regris grow into the Galra he was now.

Hope continued to bloom through the cracks of Ulaz’s heart, praying that his fears would not have come to fruition and his kit was alive.

-

“Lance!”

Blood streamed from a deep gouge above his eye, no amount of swiping at it when he was able to able to keep it from running into his eye. A close encounter with a soldier and nothing but their claws was at fault there, Regris coming out the victor by a fraction of a blow. Lucky for him that he was intimately familiar with the ways in which he could kill another of his species with precious few thoughts of remorse. It was either kill or be killed on this battlefield, the alternatives not ones he wanted to think of. Death at the hands of a druid, for example.

But he’d lost sight of Lance in the heat of the fray, having been forced so far back from their ship, just now beginning to take cover behind the massive dark red trees. Two more smaller ships had made it planet-side, neither of them in his or Lance’s corner, and despite their abilities in battle, there were just enough figures in purple to block the dark black and olive clothing that Lance was wearing from view.

He heard a cry- an instinctive Galra cry of distress - over the din of the shouting of the Galra soldiers and the blasts of their weapons. Not to mention the humming of the engines in the ships, which were almost enough to overwhelm Regris’ senses. His arm burned under the weight of the new weapon he held; a thicker, slightly bulkier gun that he had to rest against his shoulder and forearm in order to fire correctly.

He snarled wordlessly, unable to get a good shot off with a handful of Galra locked onto his location, before lunging out into the open, firing off in the direction he knew didn’t contain Lance. Stars forbid he accidentally injured the younger of the pair in an attempt to shoot someone else.

It was a short, calculated targeting that enabled Regris to get close enough to begin dragging off the soldiers on Lance; an ordeal in and of itself with his arm blazing in agony. Scooping up the sword Lance had dropped in the confusion, he wielded it as much as he was able, cutting a trail back toward the thickly trunked trees that would offer them more cover than the open ground they were currently trapped on. 

Lance’s grip was loose as he swayed against Regris, sweat on his brow as he held one hand to his side, dark red staining the fabric worryingly. Heavy hands continued to try and latch onto their limbs, but somehow, someway, he pulled themselves away from the pack of Galra and into the dark shelter of the trees. Immediately, the difference in sound was a relief to Regris’ more sensitive ears, the slits able to open more freely now undercover the trees. He would be able to pick off more of them now.

He didn’t want to think of how there were still far more of them and not nearly enough firepower on their side. Refused to.

He wasn’t ready to die on some backwater planet just because a few Galra had decided to show up and start trying to fry their collective behinds, oh no. Regris was a member of the Blade of Marmora, and they were notoriously stubborn and difficult to kill.

Take Ulaz, for example. Taking on one of the witch’s robeasts head-on and still somehow managed to survive the encounter, clawing his way back to an outpost before being picked up and brought back to headquarters. Half dead, missing a leg, but alive.

Thace, thought dead after blowing up a Galran ship.

Kizlen, shot out of the sky. Still managed to perform  _ a nonfatal _ crash landing and made it back to base of her own accord.

Blyth, Orzen, Aszka. Names he knew because he had grown up surrounded by them, witnessing first hand the sheer durability that the Blades seemed to exude like it was as natural as breathing. And perhaps it was to most of them. They had all grown into this life, some by birth, others by recruitment, finding a place and a path that they could use to finally overturn Zarkon’s rule for good.

So  _ no _ , Regris wasn’t quite ready to lie down and roll over to die just yet. He would put up a fight like no other if it meant the chance to see his pack again.

A pack that might have room for one more at the end of all this, if he had anything to say about it.

“Regris…”

Lance was beginning to pale, blood already dripping through his hand. Cursing, he dropped to his knees, propping the younger against the trunk of one of the trees, gaze thrown over his shoulder for the briefest of moments to ensure they had even a few seconds time for him to rip part of his shirt off and wrap it around Lance’s slender torso. Almost skeletal, if he judged correctly.

He would need a lot of meals to make up for what they’d both lost since their captures and escapes.

“Hurts.”

A piteous noise came from Lance’s throat as he cinched the fabric tight, knowing that it hurt but needing him to focus and hold on just a while longer. The Blade had received their coordinates - they were coming. They just had to hold on a little longer and make sure that Lance didn’t bleed out before help could arrive.

_ Fantastic _ . 

“Here.”

He pushed the blaster he’d had into Lance’s hands, ignoring how he sagged into the weight of it. He had the sword, he would be able to cause more damage than Lance in his condition.

“I need you to cover me. I’m going to try and hold them off of your position.” He hummed, a sudden wave of exhaustion striking him now that he’d been still for a few moments. “Whatever you do, don’t get shot. If you die, I’ll bring you back and kill you myself.”

Lance’s lips tugged themselves up ever so slightly, the humor of the situation not lost on him.

“Fine. But the same goes for you, idiot.”

“I can live with that.” Regris grinned, holding out his fist so that Lance could bump it with his own. It was perhaps one of the best gestures that the paladin had shared with him during their time on the ship together, a moment of bonding that crossed cultures.

He slunk from their tree to the next, ears swivelling and ear slits opening fully, the low vibrations of the soldiers’ boots on the ground picked up and stored as he picked his way near silently through the trees, sword in his uninjured hand. More had arrived, if the low rumbling of another engine in the distance was any indication. He cursed under his breath. That didn’t bode well.

Nor did the concussive grenade tossed to his left, but his instincts were enough to save him as he automatically sealed the second ears and lunged out of the way, curling into himself as it went off. He landed hard against another tree, ears ringing and head fuzzy as he tried to shake off what he was able. His back ached fiercely as he slowly returned to his feet. His vision blurred again around the edges, but he persisted, looping around where he thought the blast had gone off and hoping that Lance had not been hurt further.

The last of the group saw him, opening his mouth to cry out - and was promptly silenced by a clawed hand across his mouth and a blade through his heart. Quickly, efficiently, as he was taught and trained.

A couple stray shots zinged by between the trees, but the trunks were large enough and too close for them to do any real damage. It was a prime ambush site for him, if Regris was able to figure out where his remaining targets were.

“We know you’re out there, traitor!”

The words came through the trunks as an eerie echo, a shiver running down the back of his neck as Regris realized just how deserted these woods were.

“Come out now, and we won’t harm your companion.”

_ Lance. _

Instinct warred with the intellectual part of himself for but a moment, knowing that it couldn’t be a bluff.

He ducked down, chancing a brief glance around a trunk and catching sight of the latest commander, Lance pinned against their front and a short blade at his throat. They obviously didn’t know his location for the moment, but he had no doubt that if he didn’t show himself, they would put that knife through him in an instant, druids be damned.

Lance was already so pale, eyes lidded as he sagged into the soldier, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage Regris had made. To give up meant death for him, but to leave would cost the universe one paladin that they couldn’t afford to lose.

_ Frag. _

He stepped out from behind the tree, ears pinned back as every inch of him screamed to attack first. His injured arm hung at his side, fire blazing through it with each pulse of his heart. Adrenaline might have been the only thing keeping him up, if not for the knowledge that Lance was in danger. Lance, who he had already claimed as pack.

“Let him go.” He called back.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” The commander purred, her tone light. “See, I have some very specific instructions from the druids that he is to be kept alive.  _ You _ , however-“

He heard the shot before he felt it, a violent magma that stole his breath away as it connected with his stomach, pain pain  _ pain _ flooding his senses as a high keening rang in his ears. It took him several long, slow moments to realize that it was a combination of Lance and his own cries that he heard, Lance trembling in the grasp of the commander.

“Oh?”

She glanced between them both, smirk widening as she realized the connection.

“You’ve bonded. How sweet. A packmate sacrificing himself for the other to live.” she cooed. “Perhaps you’re of some use to me yet, traitor. Providing, of course, you survive the journey back to the druids.”

A barked order, something that sailed right over his head as hands grabbed at him, a low whine of pain escaping him as they began to drag him across the ground, away from Lance. He struggled to move, to push himself away, but his breath caught in his throat as he seized in the bright starbursts of pain.

He was effectively useless, feeling himself now fading in and out as the bright light of the white sun broke through his sagging eyelids. Felt himself sink into the hands that were dragging him more with each passing moment, unable to help himself until a sharp blow to his side had him jerking upright with a cry.

And then an all too familiar bellowing roar echoed around him, and he knew, with a tired grin, that help had arrived.

-

Absolute, icy fear clutched around Ulaz’s heart as he dropped behind Antok, the larger of the trio barrelling through the ranks of Galra like it was absolutely nothing, enraged howls echoing throughout the silent planet. Tiveda was a mid range fighter, picking off the commander with her curved blades that whistled through the air and embedded themselves into her next target.

Regris was ashen, breath rattling through his chest as he stared up at the parental figure he’d always associated Ulaz with. The way one arm was draped, he knew that the kit had suffered some old injury and an infection had set in, but it was the gaping, burning hole in his abdomen that had the older medic worried.

Glassy eyes focused on him, ears pricking forward as Ulaz got to work, the kit he always had prepared open and his hands picking out the tools he needed with practiced ease. A sedative injected into the side of his neck and the tension drained out of the youngling further, allowing Ulaz to take a closer look at the injury. It was the freshest, next to the mess of blood that was streaked across his face, likely the blow that felled him.

“Lance.” He whispered, twisting his head away from Ulaz, gaze seeking something.

Some _ one _ , he realized a moment later as a distressed whine left him, good arm reaching out to a limp form that had crumpled next to the body of the commander. An answering call had a lump in his throat, the sound too distant and too stressed.

Despite his own injuries, Regris was already trying to get his good arm under him, unable to and calling back to the other. The paladin, Ulaz’s brain informed him. Though he had no recollection of the paladin being Galra, as this one appeared to be.

“Hush, kit.” He tried to soothe.

“ _ Lance _ .”

Antok came to the rescue, his massive form stooping to loop arms around the other and bring him over to Ulaz, Regris’ distressed whines turning to hopeful chirrups that went unanswered as the paladin curled into Antok’s grip, going limp seconds later.

“We need them both on ship now.” Ulaz ordered, that cold fear returning as Regris grew more distressed again.

“Need the cube.” Regris insisted as Tiveda went to gather the youngling into her arms. “Need the cube.”

“There is no time, Regris.” Ulaz hushed. “There will be more reinforcements arriving any moment.”

“Need the cube.” He insisted again, weakly. “’s Lance’s. Promised…”

The words went unfinished as he slumped in the other’s hold, and she looked at Ulaz carefully as he growled.

“Get them on the ship, I’ll go get the cube.” He ordered, grabbing his kit and going to the unmarked ship he assumed the pair had been using. It looked lived in, as much as it was able. A handful of presumably stolen weapons and a small black recording cube lay on the console, a pale blue blanket lying on the pilot’s seat.

He paused only a moment before grabbing the blanket and the cube both.

Antok was waiting at their ship, offering Ulaz a hand and pulling him up as Tiveda started launch, the engine rumbling as it began to pull off the ground. His attention was immediately drawn back to the pair laid out on the emergency cots, his training kicking into high gear as he tossed the cube and blanket into a corner.

“Antok, grab the trauma kit from the console. They’ve both lost a lot of blood and I suspect the paladin is just as stubborn as our kit.” He muttered, going to Regris’ side first and checking for a pulse. “Get a patch on the paladin and make sure he’s steady, and then help me with Regris.”

Antok grunted an agreement, shuffling over to the other cot and carefully pulling away the fabric that covered the wound. It went straight through, thankfully. No shrapnel to worry about at least, but the damage was still fairly significant. Upon prodding the flesh around the wound, he deduced that no organs had been compromised, as if that were some kind of consolation.

He was halfway through rolling the paladin onto his side to apply one of the quick-heal patches to the back of the wound when he stirred, a low whimper in his throat that Antok echoed with a quiet rumble, claws gently running over the paladin’s crest and soothing the youngling enough to still. As he applied the same treatment to the front side of his hip, groggy blue eyes were hazily focused on him, a questioning trill on his lips before slipping closed again.

Momentary concern rose before he checked for a pulse, finding a thready but consistent beat under calloused fingers as he completed his task and moving to Ulaz’s side.

Regris was barely awake, his gaze focused on the ceiling of the ship as it bumped and jostled through the atmosphere, the sedative Ulaz had given him already soothing many of the hurts he was experiencing. It did not, however, stop him from looking at both of them, a low sob choking out of his chest as his hand sought out Antok’s.

“Hush. It’s over now, kit.” Ulaz hummed, rubbing his thumb over his cheek. “Just stay awake a little longer.”

“’kay.”

Antok rumbled in concern, tail flicking across the floor of the ship.

“There’s a clear route back to base that will take a sun-cycle, if we manage to avoid two ships.” Tiveda announced quietly. “I’ve already sent ahead a ping to Leader.”

Which would mean nothing good once they arrived, considering how fretful Kolivan could be in the meantime. But they needed to take the opportunity to get the pair of injured younglings back to safety as quickly as possible.

“Do what you must.” Ulaz nodded, his hands pulling several tools from his bag, features settling as he looked at the sight of Regris’ wounds. “We will keep them breathing long enough to see their packs.”

His kit, alive. Though it would be touch and go until he was able to stitch the wound together and throw a patch over it to keep it from infection, as it appeared his forearm had done.

He took but a moment to drink in the sight - the new scars decorating his skin, the weight he’d lost and the age that seemed to have replaced it. Bitter anger filled him at the thought of what they’d done to his kit, and with that in his mind he got to work.

They’d lost their kit once. He wouldn’t allow it to happen a second time.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Lance drifted in and out of consciousness like the waves of the ocean lapping at the sands. 

The first time it had happened, he’d assumed that they were back on ship while Regris flew, none of the events that had transpired at the forefront of his mind. A clawed hand ran itself through his hair soothingly, a calming rumble from somewhere to his left serving to lull him back into sleep.

The second time he couldn’t help the pained noise he made, hand sluggishly moving to bat at whatever was causing him pain, when a very large hand paused his endeavor.

He felt like he should know who the looming figure was next to him, but all his exhausted, quite possibly drugged mind could come up with was that this had to be Regris. Perhaps he had said as much, considering how the shoulders of his companion slouched ever so slightly and a deep rumbling voice told him to rest.

Lance came to with a low moan and an instinctive need to find Regris, jerking halfway upright before crying out and curling over his injured side. Starbursts of memory still flashed behind his eyelids, his heart pounding and his head disturbingly feeling as though someone had filled the entire thing with too much cotton.

“You should be resting.” Someone muttered, a very familiar face hovering next to him as hands gently eased him back down. “Perhaps the sedative wore off quicker than I had expected.”

“Regris.” Lance gasped out as he finally managed to suck a breath in, realizing then that his side felt as though someone may have shoved a hot poker through it. “Where’s Regris?”

An exasperated huff was his only answer before the figure moved out of the way to reveal his companion, pale and hooked up to several small wires and bags of fluids. A mess of bandages and other fabrics covered his chest and abdomen from what Lance could tell, but he was breathing.

A noise came from the back of his throat then, and something in the elder Galran’s gaze softened as he put a hand on his shoulder.

“Rest now, paladin. You will be safe under our care.”

A small prick at his elbow had him protesting, but the near immediate relaxation that stole through him was easy to fall into as his eyes flickered closed once again.

-

“It seems they bonded whilst under the care of the witch.” Ulaz mused, watching the pair of younglings resting peacefully. Or as peacefully as their injuries would allow. He’d sedated the paladin again not too long ago, but there seemed to be a permanent furrow in his features as he slept, body curled toward the wall as if to protect his injured side. Regris was thoroughly sedated and stitched up, several different fluids running to keep him stable until he was able to get him into a real med bay and get him appropriate care. “Hardly unheard of, considering what they may have endured in that place.”

The thought of his kit alone in a cell, unknowing of what horrors would await if the door opened, made his chest ache deeply. But knowing that he had possibly not been alone for it did ease some of the hurt, even if it replaced itself anew at the thought of another so young being forced into that position.

Young by Galran standards, perhaps. The paladins of Voltron all seemed far too young to have been thrust into the situations they had.

Antok nodded, a heavy sigh leaving him as he crossed his arms across his chest. He himself had not made it out of their skirmish without some mild bruising and several nicks and cuts, but he had taken care of the injuries himself and proceeded to hover protectively over the paladin while Ulaz tended to Regris. Not that Ulaz blamed him one bit. The instinctive need to care for the younglings was still rather high despite it having been several hours since they had left the small backwater planet behind. Tiveda had found a course that greatly reduced their time, but a Galran convoy had offset that further by perhaps another sun-cycle while she attempted to reroute.

They had sent Kolivan a brief coded ping alerting him to the change in plan, but had heard nothing back. Which wasn’t terribly out of character- especially when he was irritated with one of his partners putting themselves into harm’s way. Even if it was a totally justified move on his part, and like frag he would let Antok go alone to retrieve Regris from the far reaches of space.

And now he was angrily mentally rambling and Antok had noticed. Excellent.

He bared his teeth at the larger before retreating to Regris’ side to sulk.

He knew when he was sulking.

He  _ was _ sulking.

Antok, thankfully, knew when best to leave a stewing Ulaz to his own devices, shaking his head in exasperation as he took a seat next to the other cot, carefully lifting the thin blanket they had put over the youngling to ensure that none of the patches had been compromised before settling further into quiet watchfulness.

It was almost hopelessly endearing to see Antok so careful whenever a younger blade was injured. Latent paternal instincts few were able to witness rose to the surface, and he turned into the equivalent of an angry weblum if any harm were to come to those he was protecting.

Not that he had much sympathy for the Galran soldiers who had almost killed his kit, but it certainly wasn’t the prettiest of ways to go.

“I found a route.” Tiveda announced quietly from her position at the front, one hand tapping out a quick pattern as she input the new coordinates. “We’ll be back on base in a few varga.”

He didn’t need to voice his affirmation for the pilot to know he was relieved.

-

Lance blinked fuzzily as he opened his eyes to see lights above him and a broad chest holding him close to it, vibrations suggesting that he was being carried somewhere.

He trilled curiously, the sound muffled and slightly slurred by whatever sedative he was fairly sure was still in his system, relaxing as the chest underneath his palms rumbled back reassuringly. Somewhere safe, then. He certainly felt safe - warmth radiated around him, and the large palms supporting his weight were steady.

It was almost like being a child again, being carried off to bed after falling asleep against papa’s leg on the couch while watching some old telenovela that his abuela liked to watch, sleepily curled into a warm protection that promised no harm would come to him.

It was nice.

He could hear indistinct voices around him, felt hands touching and trying to pull him away from the security of whomever was carrying him, voiced his displeasure to the best of his ability as he whined and turned his face into the chest, his side aching as the motion jostled the stretched and torn skin.

The low rumbling suggested his rescuer was speaking, but Lance focused only on the warmth and safety. No one could hurt him here.

There was a bit more after that, lights being pushed into his face and fingers poking and prodding into his side, all of it overwhelming and confusing and painful as another small prick indicated more sedation. He suspected, in the small, deeply buried part of his coherent brain, that there were painkillers in the sedative as well, because it couldn’t have been more than a minute later that every inch of him began to relax into the hold and mumble something about warmth.

In that zone, he focused more on the words being spoken, picking up enough to know that they’d made it back to the Blade of Marmora headquarters and he and Regris were in the med bay. Safe.

Safe.

-

Getting a video call from Kolivan was one of the biggest reliefs Keith could have gotten - a prayer answered, if you would. Tension had been - well, it had been something of an awkward situation since Shiro had woken up.

A lot of it was just blurs in his memories - Shiro lunging upright, arm already glowing, teeth bared as he went after Keith with a ferocity he hadn’t ever really seen outside of old video feeds that circulated the Galra airwaves from his time as the Champion.

Quite honestly, it had terrified him and fully imprinted the thought that he really  _ was _ a monster now.

By the time Hunk and Coran had dragged the elder paladin off of Keith, they both were ruffled. Keith with a dark seared line across his collarbone, grazing his neck and resting just under his right eye from where Shiro’s heated arm had gone for a strike; Shiro with a trio of desperate claw marks across his cheek from Keith trying to escape from under the denser weight of the bigger man.

_ Monster monster monster monster. _

He’d essentially vanished after that. He avoided all the usual haunts and pathways he usually took to get around the castle, finding a new training room on a deck several floors above where the main one was and taking to spending the majority of his time there. On occasion, he would slink back toward the kitchen with any used dishes, but the usual sounds of Hunk bustling around the kitchen were filled with low murmurs that Keith knew to be Shiro’s. So he would leave the dishes outside the door and vanish once again.

Hell, he’d even moved the majority of his things- not that there had ever been much to start with- to another room so that he wouldn’t have to run into Shiro at all if he needed to get something.

The only sign he was fairly certain they hadn’t come after him was Pidge’s hacking into the cameras. Something she rarely did, but it was pretty likely she had after the first three days passed without any sign of Keith showing up somewhere familiar.

His routine was out of balance, and thusly  _ he _ felt off balance. From some of his lessons while he had visited the Blade, Galra were pack animals, and once having established a routine it could be extremely stressful if that routine changed or fell out of its usual patterns.

Which was definitely true.

He felt anxious and jittery, and no amount of beating the tar out of the training room bots was enough to keep him from pacing the upper floors during the night cycles or get a decent night’s rest. Not when there was still the imprinted image of Shiro’s face as he lunged for Keith still popping up at the most inopportune of times.

Oh, but he knew about Shiro’s bond with Black. He’d visited the lion shortly after he had woken, the only reason Keith knowing coming from the tug of insistence from Black’s side of their bond as it pulled him into their mindscape. He’d become close to the head of Voltron in Shiro’s absence, feeling in some ways like it was the only connection he had left of his found family. Their bond was resolute enough that Keith falling into a meditative state and seeing through their eyes was not something unusual. Uncommon, perhaps, but not unusual.

“Black, please let me in.”

Shiro’s features were pale, the dark shadows under his eyes darker than Keith could remember seeing them before. The claw marks were healing quickly, faint lines that might not even scar if he were lucky. He didn’t need any more reminders of the Galra when he looked in a mirror.

The lion rumbled something that might have been disagreement, but lowered its maw for Shiro to enter into the empty cockpit. Was he looking for Keith?

Black reassured him gently, wrapping him in a layer of protection and warmth as Shiro exhaled shakily, taking in the entirety of the cockpit that he had last seen in the midst of battle. Very little had changed, save for the extra pillow that was on the pull-out cot toward the back of the space. Keith had spent all of one night there before realizing that it was too obvious a place to hide and had found another room to stay in.

As if sensing both paladins turmoil, a low purr rattled throughout Black’s frame, settling Keith’s anxiety at being so close to Shiro despite the other having no idea that he was present. Tension rolled off his shoulders at the silent promise that Shiro would not be able to sense him here.

“You sent me away.” The elder said quietly.

Keith felt Black reach out.

_ Regret pain apology hurt _

“You did what you could to stop Zarkon.” He shook his head, moving to the pilot’s seat and seating himself on the edge of it, slumping over tiredly. “You couldn’t know what would happen.”

_ Should have. _

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t change what happened, though.”

Reflexively, Shiro’s prosthetic clenched, fingers flexing. The hair on the back of Keith’s neck stood on end as he instinctively recoiled away, ears flicking back as he bared his teeth at it before he could stop himself.

Apology wrapped around Keith from Black, but the damage was already done. He retreated from the bond, able to tell that Black had gently rejected Shiro from piloting them again shortly after. He couldn’t blame Shiro for trying. The last he had been with the paladins, he had been Black’s paladin, always had been. He hadn’t seen how Blue had pushed Lance out of their bond and into Red’s, didn’t know that they were falling apart at the seams missing two lions and their pilots.

So when Kolivan had messaged him via his communicator from the Blade, he had immediately found a quiet room that he could use to answer a call. Being from Kolivan rather than one of the other members of the Blade, it had to be something important.

“Keith.”

It was always interesting to see Kolivan’s features twist ever so slightly at saying the unfamiliar name. After discovering and knowing that his mother had wanted to call him Yorak, well… it had caused some confusion. But since Keith had grown up on Earth and had been given a Terran name, he had insisted that it was still Keith. No revelations from the other end were going to change that, even if his appearance had.

“Leader,” He greeted in return, a small smile appearing at the familiar face. He had spent some time on base with the Blades after his trials, learning some of the customs and Galran culture that he had been deprived of as a kid.

Finding out that Galra were essentially cats with a pack mentality was hardly the most shocking thing that he’d learned out of that experience, truth be told. Not after he’d met other Blades and seen some of the dramatic shifts from distant and professional to warm and quite frankly downright affectionate.

(Oh, and Ulaz and Thace were both alive. That was a shock he didn’t think he would  _ ever  _ get over.)

“I did not know who else to contact in this situation, as it is rather… delicate.” The elder Blade admitted. “But I need you to trust that we have the situation under control and we will tell you more information as we receive it.”

Keith had a sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going, hope and dread warring in his chest before he nodded wordlessly.

“Several sun-cycles ago, we received a transmission ping from one of our ships several star systems over. The first dated back to well over twenty solar cycles ago, shortly after your retrieval of the Black Paladin took place,” He informed, hands tapping something on his screen. “It appears that your rescue of the Black Paladin was enough to draw enough forces from surrounding bases to arrive as reinforcements, which allowed two prisoners from another secure druid experimentation base to escape. After confirming the data and receiving another message earlier this sun-cycle, we can confirm that Blade Regris and the Red Paladin have been retrieved from a small planet in the Deta-Vel X9 quadrant and are in stable condition.”

Keith felt his knees collapse underneath him, staring in disbelief at the screen.

Lance was alive.

Lance was alive.

_ Lance. Was. Alive. _

“However… I believe that your presence may be required in the near future. I will contact you when I have more information to offer.” The elder stated. “I will contact the Princess and see if we cannot arrange for you to stay here on base for a few days.”

“Of course.” He found his mouth saying before he registered he was speaking.

“And Keith?”

He blinked, ears flicking forward.

“Do not share this information until we are able to confirm without a doubt that this is your paladin.” Kolivan advised, ending the call.


	10. Chapter 10

Lance pried tired eyes open to find himself in an unfamiliar room, an equally unfamiliar scent of medical supply and clean fabrics filling his nose as he attempted to push himself upright.

“I wouldn’t advise that just yet, paladin.”

He startled, stomach tensing, which only served to prove the point when he grit his teeth at the uncomfortable pressure it put on the still healing wound. However, through distant foggy memory, he deduced that it had to have been at least several days since it had happened.

“No one listens to me around here.” The figure huffed, placing the data-pad he had been perusing aside in favor of reaching over Lance’s side to poke and prod the thick bandages that were wrapped around his torso. “Honestly, what’s the point of being a medical officer if you practically hold no authority over them?”

“Ulaz?”

He finally placed the name and face together, adding together the pieces and furrowing his brows when he realized that the Galra was decidedly not dead, as he had previously assumed him to be after single-handedly taking down a robeast in order to protect the paladins.

“That is my name, yes.” The male agreed, meeting Lance’s gaze for a moment before pushing him back down. “And no, I am not dead, prior to what you may have heard. Now hold still while I see if you’ve healed enough to be wandering around like an aimless kit.”

“Regris?”

“He’s right behind me.” Ulaz grunted, shifting for a moment so that Lance could see for himself. “You two have one of the strongest sibling bonds I’ve seen in a while. No doubt due to what you’ve been through together.”

His gaze softened then, flicking up to meet Lance’s as he flinched before returning to peeling the last bit of bandage away and lifting the healing patch beneath it. Curious, Lance watched, grimacing at the still swollen and puckered wound.

“It would appear that the skin has begun to close itself around the edges, but you should still not be attempting to move around too much until it’s closed further.” The medic finally hummed absently, turning in his seat to grab another small stack of bandages from the table between the beds. “I’ll change these and give you another dose of painkillers, but you’ll still be feeling it for a few sun-cycles, I’m afraid.”

Lance nodded silently, still feeling way too out of his depth and just slightly disoriented at the new smells and bright lights. He felt a pressure in his chest, an urge that he needed to be doing something nagging at him as he puzzled it over.

“I suspect now that you’re more alert you’ll be wanting to be closer to Regris as well.” The medic said, gently manipulating the paladin upright so he could finish wrapping the bandage around his abdomen. “We’ll see if we can’t move the cots together once I’ve finished here.”

“Thank you.”

“It is nothing, kit.” Ulaz said quietly, hand touching his shoulder for a brief moment. “You have much to learn of Galra yet. We are a strange lot, if you can manage to put up with any of us for more than a varga. I suspect were it any other Blade, Regris would not have returned in one piece. But I owe you much for helping bring him back safely.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Lance protested, shaking his head. “If anything, I’m the reason he got hurt.”

“I would rather you have brought my kit home injured than in death.” The elder smiled wryly. “Though it seems it was you he brought home to us. He always did know how to create bonds better than the rest of us paranoid elder folk.”

“So you  _ finally _ admit you’re old?” a faint voice asked in amusement from behind the pair.

“Only because you’re the reason my fur has gone grey, you graffing youngling.” Ulaz replied grouchily, turning to swat lightheartedly at Regris’ ears. “Antok, too. You’ll be in for quite the lecture once he and Thace come to check in on you. And Kolivan is going to let me keep you here so I  _ never _ have to go through this stress again in my lifetime.”

“Regris.”

“Lance.”

Their eyes met, silently asking if the other was alright as Ulaz huffed and threw his hands into the air.

“Fine, I’ll go find Antok and see if he can help me move the beds now. Stars, the work around here never ends!”

They watched him leave, the prosthetic below the knee of his leg visible as the medic limped out of the med bay, still muttering to himself the entire time. Regris watched him with half lidded eyes, obviously still groggy from whatever medications had been introduced into his system, but he looked at Lance with clear concern.

“Are you alright?”

“I should be asking you that, idiot.” Lance choked out, hot heat already prickling at the edges of his eyes. “I thought you were  _ dead _ .”

“Not yet, I’m afraid. But there’s still time once the pack arrives. I think I’ll be lucky if Kolivan lets me off base any time in the next few decaphoebs.”

“Or ever.”

Ulaz had returned, a behemoth of a Galra behind him that Lance could place hazily for two reasons.

One, he was almost positive that he was the second in command of the Blade.

Two, he was absolutely  _ positive  _ that he had been the one to carry Lance out of the line of fire and consequently deal with him, if the hazy memories in his brain were right.

Before he could even prepare himself, he felt his cheeks flush, a squeak of a greeting escaping him as Antok and Ulaz reached the beds. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the Galra was at least  _ nine feet tall and built like a brick shithouse _ .

In Lance speak, he was  _ big _ .

And apparently, despite his situation, that did things to his poor gay heart.

“Paladin, this is Antok. He was the one to carry you back to our ship.”

There was a look accompanying that statement, though it was not directed at Lance but at Antok himself, whose tail flicked as he nodded, a cautious rumbling purr leaving him.

Out of some kind of instinct, Regris trilled back, echoed a moment later by Lance. Whose brain had apparently taken a back seat for whatever voodoo witchcraft had just happened.

“Oh come on, that’s cheating!” Regris whined as Ulaz suddenly looked far too amused than the situation warranted.

“What was that?”

Lance felt just a tiny bit weirded out by the fact that not only was he capable of making that noise, he had just made said noise at someone who was essentially a complete stranger. Who had  _ purred, _ at  _ him _ .

“Right. He’s still new at being Galra.” Regris deadpanned, waving a hand airily in his direction. “And you snore when you’re sedated, so you know.”

Ulaz snorted as Antok moved to the base of Lance’s bed, finishing rolling the table out of the way as the larger of the pair easily slid the bed next to Regris’, carefully readjusting the arm hanging off the edge so it wouldn’t become crushed in the process.

It was an immediate difference - the pressure eased out of Lance’s chest like air out of a balloon, and he hummed contentedly as he shifted to be closer to Regris. The familiar warmth that they’d shared night after night was something that his subconscious had missed, apparently, considering how easily an arm wrapped around his side, a low purr starting up in Regris’ chest as they both settled. Lance quietly mused that it wasn’t so terrible, being surrounded by this kind of affection as his eyes closed again, nosing closer to the other’s neck and drinking in the weird earthy smell that he always seemed to have lingering on him.

-

If anyone on the castle were to tell Keith that he was avoiding them, they would all be absolutely correct. Although by the time that he’d realized he was officially doing it, it had been a couple of days since Kolivan had last contacted him.

Sleep was quickly becoming more and more scarce now that he’d heard something about Lance. Good news and bad news all rolled into one- not knowing how he was doing was doing things to his chest that made him even more anxious and jittery than he always was, so the boxing equipment that he’d found in a storage bin was being put to good use in the dark hours of the night.

He occasionally heard footsteps - or thought he heard footsteps; it was hard to tell when he was as tired as he was - treading down the halls in the small hours of the morning. Whether or not it was Coran or Shiro remained to be determined, but in either case he wasn’t about to stick around and find out.

It might have seemed childish to anyone else, but it made perfect sense to Keith. If he just… stayed away from everyone, he wouldn’t have to deal with any of the stares he was almost positive he would receive. Hunk and Pidge varying levels of irritation and concern for not telling them anything and just vanishing off the map, and Shiro-

Well, Shiro had already made his thoughts well known on the matter.

The scar had faded slightly with some healing salve he’d managed to filch from the med bay, but Keith knew that it was going to serve as a permanent reminder of what exactly he had done to Shiro, now. He was absolutely everything that he feared, and he had fueled it to the point where he was now the enemy.

It lasted right up until the point that Pidge nearly took the training room door off the hinges one night, a look of absolute wrath covering every inch of her petite features, eyes blazing behind her glasses as she marched in and told him that if he didn’t get his ass to the common room she would personally see to it that he made it there one way or another.

And since an angry Pidge wasn’t one to cross, he did as he was told.

The smallest of mercies was that Shiro didn’t appear to be present when he and Pidge arrived, Hunk the only other person in the room. However, there was an uneasy prickling down the back of his neck that indicated that something was up. Which he already knew.

“Keith, we need to talk.” Hunk started gently as Pidge threw herself onto the couch behind him, tucking a blanket around her absently as the yellow paladin silently pleaded with him to hear them out. “I know that getting Shiro back hasn’t exactly been easy-“

He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest, flinching at the words. His face was clear evidence that something hadn’t gone to plan. Then again, he’d certainly returned the favor to Shiro, so he probably wasn’t one to talk now, was he?

“Hey. We knew it wasn’t going to just go back to normal.” Hunk said firmly, still in that strangely warm tone that he used when dealing with young children and easily frightened animals. The only question, Keith wondered, was which category he currently fit into.

“He’s hurting too, you know.” Pidge muttered rebelliously from behind Hunk’s back, voice muffled by the blanket burrito she’d been turned into. “Imagine how you’d feel, being unconscious for who knows how long, only to wake up and see  _ you  _ hovering over him-“

“You think I haven’t, Pidge?” Keith demanded. “You think I don’t for a second imagine how it must have felt to wake up and see a Galra standing over you? One of the same species who not only kidnapped you  _ twice _ , but spent a thorough amount of time doing God knows what to you? It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

He hissed through his teeth, fingers tugging on the ends of his hair in frustration. “I’m a monster to him. It’s all I’ll ever be, clearly. And the best part is that this time, it’s a permanent one. It’s one thing to hear it, but now, every time he looks in my direction, there’s going to be a reminder of what happened to him. Just staring him in the face. So if I want to avoid him and give him all the space he needs, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Even if it means I have to step down as a paladin, I  _ refuse _ to hurt Shiro any more.”

“Is that seriously what this is about?” Pidge piped up again. Hunk didn’t even bother trying to distract her, instead leaning back so that her dark glare was visible over the blanket. “Keith, Shiro’s been beating himself up for the last few days thinking he’d scared  _ you _ off with the instinctive fight or flight thing. He’s been worried that you’ve been avoiding him because  _ he _ hurt  _ you _ , not the other way around.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Keith shook his head. “It will be fine.”

“Talk to him. Please.” Hunk pleaded. “Because it’s only a matter of time before we’re going to have to get back in the fight, and I’d rather everyone were on the same page by then. Even if it means that we only have three pilots.”

“We only have three lions anyway, Hunk. There’s not exactly many options.” He sighed.

“Just. Please. Talk to him for your sakes, if nothing else.” The yellow paladin appealed, eyes large and sad.

It was completely unfair, by the way, that he was able to just whip that sad kicked puppy look out of nowhere and wield it as ruthlessly as he did around the ship.

“Fine.” He sighed. “I’ll… try.”

“That’s all we’re asking for.” Hunk switched tactics, back to that oddly maternal smile again, no sign of the emotional manipulation he’d been utilizing seconds earlier to be found. As Pidge opened her mouth to protest, he dug an elbow into her side, earning a surprised yip before she grumbled some form of affirmation as well.

Even if it was extremely reluctant and she looked like she wanted to say something else on the topic at hand.

He shook his head as he left the room, feeling marginally better than he had before he’d been threatened within an inch of his life and dragged out of his hiding place. Now he just had to cross the last hurdle and work up the courage to actually talk to Shiro instead of avoiding him like the plague.

Easier said than done.

-

“We heard you were looking for us, Ulaz. Is there any news?”

Thace entered the small communications room, closely followed by Kolivan, Antok bringing in the rear as he reached around the other members of the pack to close the door firmly behind them.

“Regris and the paladin both are stable and awoke earlier while I was keeping an eye on their conditions.” The medic said, ignoring Thace’s coughed “hovering” with a decidedly irritated expression. “As I initially thought, they show signs of a rather strong pack bond due to the traumatic circumstances that brought them together, the paladin indicating distress at being separated from Regris. Likewise, Regris displayed the same dependency.”

“Not unusual, but important to know. Thank you for informing us.” Kolivan, ever the diplomat, voiced. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes, actually. Regris was conscious a short while before the paladin awoke and gave me this.” He opened his palm, revealing a small black cube. “He was very insistent that we retrieve this before leaving the planet we found them on - apparently it belonged to the paladin.”

“A recording cube?” Thace’s brow raised questionably high, his arms crossed over his chest as he shifted his weight. “What does that have to do with Regris?”

“At the moment, little. However, it’s the  _ content _ of the cube that is troubling. I watched it before calling you all here.”

Ulaz cleared his throat as he placed the small thing on the dark console of the desk, taking a step back before announcing, “Begin playback of digital data.”

The cube chirped a bright confirmation, the joints of its sides glowing a pale green as a hologram appeared above it, the first images beginning to play.

There were over two dozen logs on the cube. Each one detailing a moment in the paladin’s life on that ship with no one but Regris and his own thoughts for company.

“ _ Sometimes I wake up and I don’t even know what’s real and what isn’t anymore.”  _ The Lance in the image said quietly. There were deep bags under his eyes, growing ever darker with each log no matter how cheerful he might appear to be.  _ “I don’t know if I can even call myself a paladin after this. So much of… everything… is going on. Y’know, I realized I don’t even remember what it feels like to feel normal. I don’t even know how long I’ve been gone because of all the…” _

He waved a hand around his face like it made sense, a snort leaving him.

There wasn’t a single Galra in the room whose chest didn’t ache in sympathy with the youngling. Knowing that Lance had seen things that had spoken and hurt him further than he had already been before the druids had gotten their claws into him on that forsaken base.

_ “And the thing is… I can’t blame them for thinking those things about me. I’m not as good as the rest of them. I’m just a placeholder. When they find Shiro everything will go back to the way it was. Or maybe they’ll find someone else to pilot Blue. I don’t know. All I know is she never wanted me. She just needed a pilot to get back to the Castle of Lions.” _

He grabbed one of the packets of food goo that all blade members had in their ships, toying with it for a moment before looking back up to the camera.

_ “If anyone is watching this… I’m no paladin. Not anymore. Even if we do get out of this.” _

The log ended.

“That is the final log on the cube.” Ulaz said quietly, no one willing to break the silence. His tone wavered as he swallowed, unable to help the instinctive transfer of parental instinct that quickly included the paladin in his med bay.

Kolivan exhaled evenly, the only sign that anything of what they had just witnessed had wormed its way under his skin. Thace looked decidedly guilty, his ears pinned back to his skull as they digested the logs for themselves.

“And your professional opinion on the paladin’s state of being?” Kolivan finally forced himself to ask, dreading to hear the answer.

“Based on everything I have witnessed… I do not believe the paladin to be of any condition to pilot a lion of Voltron, let alone be active in the field.” Ulaz said, drawing himself up to his full height. “Combined with whatever other trauma we have yet to discover, it is my personal recommendation that we allow him leave of the base here until I have officially cleared him for duty. Which, as any of us know, could be indefinite.”

“And are we in agreement with this assessment?”

Kolivan’s gaze searched those of his pack, finding nothing but agreement in their expressions. Antok nodded when their leader’s gaze fell upon him.

“Very well then. We shall further assess the paladin’s state once he is allowed to leave the med bay, and inform Voltron or Keith accordingly.”

-

Of course, the second that Lance was cleared to leave the med bay was the precise time that he absolutely did not want to do such a thing, having been on the base all of once. He stayed close to Regris, who was entirely too amused until Lance confided that the base was reminding him of the druids, to which he quietly allowed the paladin to stay curled up against his side, absently running his claws through the soft strands of violet tinted hair.

Regris was not a stranger himself to the feeling, the hair on the back of his neck prickling when he woke during the night cycle, the dim lighting sending his entire being into a fight-or-flight state until he could calm himself down and remind his brain that he was no longer on that base, but home amongst allies.

Lance did not have that luxury. His pack was on the Castle of Lions, the entire Blade base foreign to him. Everything seemed to have him on edge if he wasn’t within reach of the other Galra, and even those coming and going had low, threatened growls rumbling in his throat.

Regris was positive that Lance didn’t realize what he was doing, considering how his eyes seemed to slit every time it happened, but he suspected that if he said something it would only serve to further unnerve Lance. It was already hard enough for the paladin to adjust from one person to dozens being in his proximity. Being informed that the Galra side of his genealogy was making more prominent appearances would likely send him over the edge.

But it was quickly becoming an obvious problem to all the members of the pack when they came to visit. Ulaz primarily, who looked far too knowing as he tended to Regris’ wounds, mindful of the way that a slumbering Lance would frown in his sleep and shift uneasily until the elder had retreated.

Thace or Kolivan were no better. Lance was clearly uneasy and timid around the pair, in particular the leader of the Blades, and would barely make eye contact with either when they entered the room. Granted, the younger of the pair was clearly out of his element, but something would have to be done and soon if he were to be allowed to stay on base.

(Of course, none of them were going to send him on his way, not in the state of health he was in emotionally and physically, but things were bound to come to a head if nothing were done to avoid it.)

Which was how the master plan that was unbeknownst to anyone but Regris came to be.

Not to say that Regris didn’t enjoy Lance’s company, in some ways even craved the contact with his new packmate after everything that they’d been through together, but even after being cleared to leave the med bay he had stuck around, very much so uncomfortable and so jittery it was beginning to make  _ him _ anxious, and he was usually able to keep himself level headed the majority of the time.

Antok seemed to be the only one Lance didn’t have a massive problem with - not that he should have had issues with any of the other Blades, but that was another train of thought to set aside for later. Besides, Antok seemed to be at the very least more curious about this outsider than some of those who had come before, making the effort to stick around in the med bay despite the fact that he knew it made the elder’s skin crawl.

His logical conclusion?

“Antok, thank the stars you’re here. Please take Lance with you to the training deck. A walk.  _ Anything _ .” Regris whined piteously the next time his packmate entered the room, ignoring Lance’s yip of indignant surprise next to him. “He’s been so anxious it’s making  _ me _ anxious, and Ulaz is going to have  _ both _ of our heads if he doesn’t get out of this room and do something  _ other _ than hover over me.”

Naturally, Antok had not anticipated this turn of events, stopping in his tracks. Even behind the mask, Regris could almost see the thoughts running through his mind, weighing his options as to whether or not fleeing the room would be the wisest option of his admittedly few choices.

The eventual give in his shoulders informed Regris that he had reluctantly accepted his fate in the matter.

Lance on the other hand looked betrayed, ears drooping and looking like he’d been kicked. The only thing indicating otherwise was the faint dusting of a blush across his cheeks and the fact he absolutely would not look at Antok in the eye.

Now  _ that  _ was something that Lance had neglected to mention to him.

He wasn’t about to bring it up, what with the pair of them looking like startled yelmore, but he would tuck that bit of information away in the back of his mind to analyze later. Perhaps bring it up with the paladin himself, if he didn’t spontaneously combust like his entire being seemed to suggest at present time.

It took several long minutes of muttered argument, but Regris came out on top, sighing in relief as an extremely reluctant Lance moved to follow the much taller Blade to the door, whirling around at the last second to give him a final betrayed stare before the doors slid closed.

Regris sighed contently at the blessed silence that followed. Maybe he would actually be able to get some rest, even if only for a short while.


	11. Chapter 11

It did not go unnoticed, as Antok loped easily down the hall, that the smaller kit was deeply uncomfortable next to him. There was a stiffness in the way the youngling walked, the tender, newly healed flesh of his wound still ailing him, despite the effort he appeared to be putting into keeping a nonchalant appearance; which, of course, lost some of its effectiveness when every fibre of his form screamed  _ discomfort! _

Which then led to what, exactly, he was going to do about it.

The answer, he mused, was one that he was almost certain the youngling would not have considered.

“What are we doing here?”

Lance’s nose wrinkled at the unfamiliar scents of the room, ears twitching as he warily looked around the training deck. Few utilized the several on the base during the sun-cycles, preferring to use their time in the evenings and the night to hone particular skills. Meaning that for the moment, they were alone.

Frankly, Lance wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Antok was built like he could bench-press a truck without breaking a sweat, all thick limbs and eerie gracefulness as the behemoth silently traversed the lightly padded mats to the center of the room, tail flicking as his masked face turned to him.

“Come here, cub.” He finally rumbled, noting either the obvious hesitance or the assumption that Lance hadn’t clued into what he wanted. Which he hadn’t, until he’d said something. 

Said something that was currently playing all kinds of games with his little gay heart, because that voice was all coarse rumbling thunder and creaking bark in a wind storm with how raspy it was.

Cautiously, the smaller of the pair moved to the center of the room to join Antok, lifting his gaze to examine the walls. All four of them were marked with odd indents and bumps that collected into the raised ceiling - climbing walls, he realized belatedly. No cameras, no odd windows or viewing platforms to be found. In a far corner, there appeared to be several small stands for weapons, though at the moment there did not appear to be anything set on them.

Antok humored him, a low sound in his throat as he watched, head cocked ever so slightly in thought.

And then he swung.

Immediate instinct was probably the only thing that prevented him from taking the hit to the face, but nonetheless Lance’s duck wasn’t quite enough to avoid it entirely, and he went tumbling down into the mat. Every nerve was on fire, prickling with the sensation of  _ attackers _ and  _ strangers  _ and fear before he was hit with the realization that there hadn’t been a third person in the room.

Antok didn’t make a move to further follow him, head still cocked slightly like he was trying to puzzle something out.

_ Aren’t you going to get up?  _ His body language inquired.

Wary, on edge, Lance carefully got back onto his feet.

The next blow he was more prepared for, the same motion that had sent him tumbling blocked with shaking arms. But it never went further than the same motion. As if resetting, Antok retreated, looking just as relaxed - or at least at ease - he had been the moment they’d stepped foot into the room.

_ A distraction _ , Lance caught on. One that gave him just enough to worry about that he wasn’t able to focus on Regris or how different the Blade headquarters was in comparison to the Castle of Lions or even how much bigger and more powerful Antok was compared to him.

The size difference alone should have been enough to suggest how bad an idea this was. If he wasn’t careful, the other Galra could simply decide to crush him and leave him on the floor for the others to find, for  _ the druids to come sink their claws into and send blazing agony singing through his veins- _

When he came back to himself, he was curled up on the mat, a warmth at his side and an already distinct rumbling purr reverberating through his chest. Antok looked relaxed, given the situation - slouched over himself, one arm on his knee as the other supported his weight, masked gaze fixated on the door.

The door that he had rather conveniently placed himself between.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

“Do all Galra purr like that?” he asked quietly, worried he might have offended the other Galra when the strangely comforting noise paused.

“No.”

“Thanks for saving me, I guess. Back on that planet.”

The silence was beginning to weigh on him, threatening to suffocate in how empty the space was, when Antok finally replied.

“You’re welcome.”

The conversation apparently over, the purring started up again in full force, bringing with it an odd sense of peace with it that Lance couldn’t remember having felt for a long, long time.

-

“What do you mean,  _ Keith went to the Blade for a few days?” _ Pidge demanded as Allura announced the decision over dinner that evening. Hunk looked equally affronted, perhaps bordering more on baffled, but kept his thoughts to himself as he continued to serve the dishes to the group at the table. For once, they had managed to wrangle Coran into a “family dinner”, but given how few people there were on board the Castle of Lions at the moment everyone suspected that it was an attempt to boost morale.

Shiro kept his distance from the rest of the group, a chair on either side of him as he remained silent during the admission. The dark shadows under his eyes were still as dark as they ever were, but it didn’t go unnoticed that his shoulders pulled in on themselves at the princess’ words.

“Kolivan requested his presence on base for several days, and given the current…  _ circumstances _ , I believed it to be the correct course of action for the moment.” The Altean replied smoothly, lifting an elegant brow as Pidge sputtered, trying to come up with something to say.

“It was because of me,” Shiro said quietly, voice hoarse. “Wasn’t it?”

He hadn’t spoken much since his return to the castle, and even less since his  _ encounter _ with Keith. Actually, Shiro and Keith both had been fairly scarce since the incident, the only difference being that Shiro actually made an attempt to stay somewhere where he might run into another paladin. He wasn’t terribly interested in sharing his experience with the druids again, and no one could blame him for it. Not after everything else they had seen, after all their own encounters with the druids since they had become paladins.

No one would begrudge him the need for human company.

Now, regardless of the unspoken threat Pidge had looming over Keith’s head, he had not, in fact, yet approached Shiro about the incident. He had been witnessed lurking down in more familiar places of the castle than he had been, however, which was something of a promising start considering how skittish he was known to be.

“I will not deny that part of the reason I approved the visit was because some of the… tensions, on board.” Allura admitted. “But the original reason is true. The Blade  _ did _ request Keith’s presence on board for a few days, and I allowed him to go. If any of you happen to disagree with my decision, I welcome you to take it up with Kolivan yourself.”

She reclined primly in her seat, sipping on the tea that Coran had settled by her elbow, a brow raised challengingly as Pidge opened her mouth again. At a nudge from Hunk, however, she sat back with a huff, crossing her arms and looking like the very picture of the word “rebellious”.

“Shiro, I know all of this has been difficult for you.” Allura continued, turning to level a compassionate smile in the former black paladin’s direction. “And I would not ask if we had so few options left, but- would you consider attempting a bond with the Blue Lion?”

Rejection from the Black Lion had hardly been a private affair. All of the Lions of Voltron had been privy to the conversation - and Keith - and had shared the information with their paladins. Except for the Blue and Red lions, considering that Blue was without a paladin and Red was missing.

Shiro looked down at the table for a long moment, expression troubled as he warred with whatever thoughts he needed to. 

Finally, he nodded. 

-

Keith’s breath hitched as he glimpsed Lance for the first time, shock rooting him to the spot.

That wasn’t right.

Lance should have been warm brown and blue eyes, not pale violet with whisps of fur lying across the visible skin in the frame. Not with purple tinted hair and long ears that twitched as he tried to sort out the camera situation, the grainy images floating in front of his eyes and proving everything he knew to be very, very wrong.

The moment his small ship had touched down in the hangar, Ulaz had greeted Keith warmly, tugging him into a hug that turned into the elder Blade nosing into his neck and running hands through his hair, flicking the still new ears with an amused huff that did nothing but remind Keith that he was still a kit in their eyes. One who had been accepted into their pack, but a kit nonetheless.

(Krolia had been absolutely no help and thought everything about it was hilarious. Vengeance would come later.)

It had been just over a couple of weeks since Kolivan had contacted Keith, and then came the request for a mission aboard the Blade’s ship. One that he had neglected to tell the rest of the paladins about, as per Kolivan’s insistent request. Keith would admit it had grated on him, holding such a secret and not being able to share it with anyone, but if he had learned anything by now it was that the Blade did not lightly make requests, and if they did, it was for a damned good reason.

There were over two dozen logs on the small, innocuous cube. Each one detailing a moment in Lance’s life on that ship with no one but Regris and his own thoughts for company.

“ _ Sometimes I wake up and I don’t even know what’s real and what isn’t anymore.”  _ The Lance in the image said quietly. There were deep bags under his eyes, growing ever darker with each log no matter how cheerful he might appear to be.  _ “I don’t know if I can even call myself a paladin after this. So much of… everything… is going on. Y’know, I realized I don’t even remember what it feels like to feel normal. I don’t even know how long I’ve been gone because of all the…” _

He waved a hand around his face like it made sense, a snort leaving him.

Keith’s chest ached in sympathy, knowing that part of that pain that Lance was feeling was because of him. Knowing that Lance had seen things that had spoken and hurt him further than he had already been.

_ “And the thing is… I can’t blame them for thinking those things about me. I’m not as good as the rest of them. I’m just a placeholder. When they find Shiro everything will go back to the way it was. Or maybe they’ll find someone else to pilot Blue. I don’t know. All I know is she never wanted me. She just needed a pilot to get back to the Castle of Lions.” _

He grabbed one of the packets of food goo that all blade members had in their ships, toying with it for a moment before looking back up to the camera.

_ “If anyone is watching this… I’m no paladin. Not anymore. Even if we do get out of this.” _

Keith inhaled shakily, realizing a second too late the heat rising in his eyes as he propped his elbows on the edge of the table, ears pinning themselves back as he realized everything that Lance had been through. Everything that he and the other paladins had done to make him feel unwelcome and alone in the midst of a team that was supposed to be as close as blood.

A shaky sob left his throat, followed by another, and then another.

He had been so alone. He hadn’t gone too into detail of whatever the druids had done, but he could see the ghosts of it lingering in his eyes; the same way that he went distant every time, just like Shiro had when they’d first gotten him back on Earth. The way his shoulders came in, his eyes averted, and his ears pinned themselves to his skull.

Low rumbling purrs surrounded him on all sides, Kolivan the first to pull him close and tuck his face out of sight as the rest of their pack closed in.

It was a combination of issues - Shiro’s disappearance, his return, Lance’s disappearance with Red and the weight of the universe falling square onto his shoulders with no other choice but to do what he had to in order to keep them all from falling apart and fraying at the edges. But he hadn’t really, had he?

He’d fought with Lance  _ constantly _ , even though he was probably the one with the best instincts next to Shiro. The difference between them was that Lance weighed out his options before acting on them, whereas Keith simply went with the first thing that came to mind. It had been something that had benefited him on Earth, in the Garrison, but in space he had very few options left to him. He had to behave like a leader, someone that the rest of the team could look up to. And he  _ hadn’t _ . Hadn’t taken into consideration Hunk’s anxiety or Pidge’s fixation on her family or even Lance’s concerns about everything and everyone because that had always just been how Lance  _ was _ .

And now this.

The dark, haunted Galra on the screen who claimed he wasn’t a paladin any longer.

How much of that had been because of Keith?

He didn’t know how long they stayed there in the dark room, surrounded by a pack who obviously cared about him, allowing him the time and space he needed to grieve whatever he needed to. Thace was rubbing circles on one shoulder, Ulaz on the other, with Kolivan in front of him to stand guard.

“None of this was your fault, kit.” Kolivan finally spoke when the trembling in his limbs had abated enough, his last hiccupping breaths beginning to steady back into something of a regular pattern. “You cannot blame yourself for the circumstances you had no control over. We all make our choices. It is what we choose to do in the  _ aftermath _ of them that represents your character.”

“I need to see him.”

“I believe that can be arranged. He and Antok were heading to the training deck earlier- they may still be there, if my assumptions are correct.”

Keith nodded, feeling terribly young as he retreated from Kolivan’s careful grasp, swiping at his eyes and trying to get himself back under control.

“Is Regris okay?”

“His injuries were more severe, but no lasting damage will come of it.” Ulaz shook his head. “We arrived in time so that nothing permanent could be done.”

The way he spoke the words suggested that there was quite a bit to unpack from that situation, but given he didn’t know what had happened guessed that it was best that he didn’t ask at the moment. Not while Ulaz was giving Kolivan a look like he wanted to cause some form of bodily harm to the Leader.

He also noticed that Kolivan was pointedly  _ not _ looking in Ulaz’s direction at that moment.

Regris had always been an interesting figure in Keith’s time with the Blades. Always present, slightly overbearing but his demeanor cheerfully teasing every time Keith had had a run in with him. He liked to think that they were friends, at least. At most, he didn’t know, couldn’t quite pinpoint how exactly he felt with the distinctly different set of people he knew in the Blade versus the Castle of Lions.

Krolia had mentioned something about being a part of two different packs, but Keith hadn’t entirely been listening during the duration of that conversation. Right now, he wished he had.

“I would like to remind you that he has been through much.” Ulaz said gently as they left the room, the other members of the pack taking their own separate ways to whatever they might have been doing before the brief meeting. “From what I understand of what you have told me about his prior character, he is very quiet and easily startled now. However, we are beginning to make some progress. He and Antok appear to have begun bonding, no thanks to Regris’ meddling. Insufferable kit.”

Keith could understand that. He still saw it as strong as it ever had been in Shiro now. Always startling at the shadows and flinching at nothing, even in well lit, sociable places like the common room. Not that he would know, considering his ongoing avoidance of his adopted brother.

But then again, had he really known what Lance or Shiro had really been like? How much of his knowledge of either man had been based on first impressions or even the wrong impression?

However, there was the small matter of his brain hanging up at the words  _ Lance _ and  _ Antok _ and  _ bonding _ . Mostly because even though Keith had been a Blade for something like two or three Earth years, Antok had only just begun to open up to Keith, beginning to show him more open affection when in the same vicinity as the pack and becoming more of a playful uncle in nature.

“Yes, we thought it odd as well. However, we believe the beginnings of the bond began when we first found them on the planet we retrieved them from. Lance and Regris both had been injured, and Antok was the one to carry him back to our ship and watch over him. Of course, with you hybrids as young as you are, I suspect it triggered something of a protective streak over him. Since Regris insisted on them spending time together they have become rather close.”

“And Lance appearing Galra…?”

“We did test his blood for any sign of the witch’s work. Whatever happened to him simply appears to have activated latent Galra genealogy already present in his body and caused those characteristics to manifest. Much as yours did.”

“So we still don’t know what Haggar’s original plan was with that cannon.”

“Unfortunately not. Thace suspects it may have been an attempt to bring the more Galra side of your genetics in specific to the forefront and cause latent Galra instincts to take over. But considering you experienced no behavioral changes, the theory is still unproven.” Ulaz shrugged. “However, it is currently the most solid one that we have. If she were intending to change your behaviors to that of a feral Galra, you would have been more inclined to turn on those you consider allies.”

“But that didn’t happen.”

“No.” he shook his head. “But it may have been her intent. For your sake, kit, try not to get into the line of fire of that weapon should it make another appearance in battle.”

He managed to keep from rolling his eyes, if barely.

“Ah. It would appear they’ve decided to play instead of training, today.” Ulaz hummed dryly as he led the way into one of the training decks. Keith recognized it as one more dedicated to hand to hand as well as agility, the climbing walls as high as he remembered. “I’m not sure which one is more incorrigible once they’ve made it up those walls.”

Keith was about to ask what he meant by that, but the victorious cry from above them answered the unspoken question. Antok, his familiar broad shoulders squared as he almost free-falled from hand hold to hand hold, chasing a slim blur of dark fabric and unruly hair that he immediately recognized as Lance. Even from a distance, his features were the same, broken up only by the tinted hair and the long ears as he snapped playfully at Antok’s swinging kick with sharp teeth.

Playing, for lack of a better word.

They were only about ten feet from the ground when the pair got a glimpse of them on the ground. Lance jumped, flipping agilely before tumbling onto the padded floor, rolling into a chipper salute toward Ulaz before his jaw went slack.

Antok hit the mats near silently, tail flicking as he nodded toward Keith in friendly greeting. Looming behind Lance, he looked like an oversized shadow other than the small glowing pieces of his mask.

“Kit.” Ulaz greeted.

“ _ Keith?” _

The word was breathless, Lance looking like he’d been hit, what with how shocked he looked.

Right. They’d both gone through some changes since the last time that they’d seen one another.

Months ago, now.

“Hey, Lance.” He managed, throat feeling like a bowling ball had gotten lodged in it. Lance was right here. In front of him. Healthy and whole and not dead like he’d been praying for every night since they’d managed to get Shiro back. 

Despite his own relief at seeing him for himself, he didn’t dare reach out to try and touch or hug him. Bitter memories of their last conversation welled up behind his eyes, hot tears joining in for the worst possible combination as he hunched into himself. Torn between reassuring himself that Lance was really there, and torn between what Lance thought of him now.

Ulaz bumped into him gently, a small noise of comfort offered as he choked on swallowing back a sob.

But then another set of hands were settling on his shoulders, a quiet hush of breath on his cheek as Lance reached out first, a low whine of something coming from both of them as Keith latched onto the contact with everything he was worth.

“I thought you were dead.” He gasped into Lance’s shoulder, breathing in the new scents of the fabric and his velvet fur poking out from his top.

“I thought you’d left me.”

“Looks like both of us were wrong,” He laughed wetly.

Ulaz rolled his eyes, even though he wasn’t immune to the scene before him. Stubborn younglings, always thinking the universe was ending despite the fact that it had been just fine before and would continue to be just fine until they finally managed to defeat Zarkon once and for all.

No pressure.

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

Antok woke to the subtle shift in the pack nest behind his shoulder, blinking and twisting his head to get a look at which of the younglings had been disturbed by their dreams in the night. Regris was still sleeping soundly, an occasional hum leaving him with his exhalations, one arm twisted around Ulaz’s leg and the other entwined with Thace’s hand. Kolivan was twisted into a loose curl, one foot under Antok’s ear, his knee next to Thace’s cheek, hand resting on Regris’ crest and his head resting on Ulaz’s shoulder. Keith had been spooned up against Antok’s chest, but at some point it appeared he had relocated to somewhere between Regris and Ulaz. With all the twisted limbs it was hard to tell.

Which left Lance.

Curled between Regris and Antok, the paladin twitched again in his sleep, a low, wounded noise clawing its way out of his throat.

During the daylight hours, he had been easing out of the instant fight-or-flight pattern that he and Regris had fallen into during their journey through space, on the run from the witch and Zarkon’s fleet both. And despite his best efforts, Antok found himself terribly endeared to the youngling.

As Keith so often protested, just because humans didn’t age the same ways as Galra didn’t mean that they were as young as most of the elder blades perceived them to be. However, there would always be some measure of his mind that saw not just Regris as a youngling, but all of the paladins of Voltron. So terribly, terribly young to have such a fate fall to their shoulders.

But then, so many of them had also been thrust into conflict early in their lives.

It was clear to see some of the unresolved tension between Keith and Lance, matters that had been aired when they had viewed the logs on the recording cube to some degree. Not enough to gain the full picture, no, but enough to understand that there was currently little chance of Voltron’s missing paladin returning to the fight as he was now.

As Lance twitched again, Antok rolled over easily, tail hanging out of the nest of warm fabrics and pillows as his arm carefully landed over the youngling’s frame. With no further reaction, he settled in more firmly, draping more of the weight across his shoulders and starting up a lazy purr, eyes already lidded.

Kolivan blinked one eye open at the noise, an answering rumble starting up from the other side of the group, a low vibration that travelled throughout interconnected limbs and tangled hands. It was a pleasant contrast to the sometimes-sterile ship that they called home, the quiet hum of the machinery in the walls occasionally the only sound when so many of their number were on assignment.

Whatever the dreams that plagued the youngling, the contact, coupled with the rumbling purrs around him, seemed to do the trick. Breathing evening out, he relaxed into Antok’s arm and stilled.

-

Lance woke, for once, to the sensation of being completely and utterly relaxed.

Which lasted all of three seconds until he realized the reason for said state of calm was the fact that he was tucked rather firmly against Antok’s chest, a large arm draped loosely over his shoulder. Coupled with the furnace-like source of heat and the occasional rumble from his chest, Lance was almost tempted to fall back asleep save for his remaining dignity and the lingering wariness that always seemed to lurk at the edge of his psyche nowadays.

He couldn’t recall when the incident would have occurred. Likely when he was asleep, if he’d had to guess. Most of his dreams faded quickly once he opened his eyes, but there would be afterimages that followed. Flickers of hallucinations and voices that weren’t real, blood on his shaking hands that he couldn’t wash off even with the most determined of scratching with his nails.

Right now, however, all he was very much aware of was the fact that Regris was awake and grinning at him, barely three inches from his face.

“Don’t say a single word.” He mouthed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The other replied innocently.

Lance’s cheeks flushed. He felt it, knew the sensation intimately from many a former encounter with a pretty face in the past, but this was a first in terms of dealing with it in space. With Galra. In particular the one who was just so coincidentally behind him with a body built unfairly well.

Kolivan and Thace were already missing from the group, Lance noted next. Behind Regris, he could see a hint of Ulaz’s prosthetic from whatever strange and unusual position the medic had curled into after the rest of the pack had left. Lance frowned- he’d sworn Keith had carefully snuck in somewhere in the pile in the dark of night, but then again, he’d always been an early riser back on the castle. Always in the training deck or puttering around with Allura and Coran on the command deck.

Regris’ finger poked against the tip of his nose.

Blinking, he lazily snapped at the offending digit, jostling Antok’s arm and freezing as the giant Galra huffed. The flush completely back in place, Lance didn’t move an inch as Antok batted at Regris’ ears, a fond, “too early for trouble, kit.” vibrating through Lance’s chest.

Why was his voice so  _ deep _ , and why did Lance have to be such a weak,  _ weak _ man?

“Is not.” Regris muttered, completely unrepentant.

A grunt in response, and then Lance was being flipped with an indignant squeak as Antok deigned remove them both from the conversation. For one long second, his heart was pounding in his chest, but Antok’s grip was gentle as he gave the younger some room to breathe.

Not to mention the current gay crisis going on in Lance’s brain as his fight or flight instincts kicked in.

Ultimately, despite most of his rather warped senses of preservation, he reluctantly settled into the admittedly comfortable new position, a pillow under his elbow and a blanket wormed between himself and Antok.

A content hum rattled through him, echoed by Antok’s familiar rumble. Somewhere behind Antok, he could hear Regris muttering something to himself, but considering the lack of bite to the tone he didn’t think it was anything to be too concerned over.

At least for now.

-

Keith was noticing, during his stay with the Blades, that Lance was only truly comfortable around Regris and Antok. Sure, the rest of the pack were tolerated, but there was an edge of wariness to his shoulders that never really went away until the offending Blade did. Then again, if it was anything like Shiro’s symptoms of PTSD, any Galra would be enough to send him on edge. He also took note of the amount of time spent on the training deck with Antok (Regris still not cleared for anything too strenuous on his still healing side) though it certainly didn’t stop him from watching Lance and Antok’s wrestling matches.

In the loosest of terms, of course. It was more play-fighting than an actual wrestling match, full of faux teeth snaps and claws that didn’t actually draw blood. Taking into consideration Antok’s full weight and height and it was doubtful that Lance would actually be able to keep up for long with the larger Blade. Not without some form of injury in the meantime.

Or so he thought, anyway.

Having been on the receiving end of Antok’s tough-love training, he was intimately familiar with the speed and deceptive lack of grace that the elder Blade wielded ruthlessly in order to give the deceptive appearance that he was at a disadvantage. (Which he definitely wasn’t, but it was amusing to watch some of the younger Blades find that out for themselves).

He walked into the training deck in search of Regris - in hiding from Ulaz and his scanners again - in time to see Antok throw his full weight down onto Lance. An alarmed noise tore itself from his throat, but before he could finish, Lance heaved the larger over his head with a grunt, following through with a quick jab to the left before retreating. It was obvious that they’d been at it a while - both of them looked damp with sweat, and Lance made a quick motion with his hand as he leaned over, hands on his knees as he breathed heavily.

“He’s learned a thing or two since being here.” Regris commented from against the wall, patting the floor with an amused smirk. “And Antok wouldn’t hurt him. He’s a big softie.”

Keith shot him a look.

“Ulaz just wants to make sure you’re cleared, you know.”

“Oh, I know. Which means the longer I hide from him, the longer he can’t smother me and be all protective.” He grinned. “Besides, why would I hide somewhere so obvious?”

“Why, indeed.” a low drawl replied. 

“Ulaz.” Keith greeted. 

“Keith. I see you found my wayward kit.”

“I’m not a kit.” Regris muttered petulantly.

“Then stop  _ acting  _ like one and get to the med bay so I can clear you for duty.”

Keith could feel curious eyes on them, choosing to ignore it in favour of wrestling Regris into a headlock so Ulaz could get a grip on one ear and yank him along behind him, earning several choice curses from his packmate in the process.

Too many times Regris had been the one doing the exact same thing he was now when he had initially been on base, hunted down by the irritable medic for one thing or another. If not Ulaz, Krolia had been roped into it - turned out she was a masterful liar when she needed to coerce her offspring into doing something.

Karma was a bitch, and he was happy to deliver on her behalf. 

-

On the quiet nights in the castle, it was hardly a secret that Shiro tended to wander. Since his fight with Keith - and yes, he was now calling it what it had been, no need to pretend it was anything but - he’d been frequenting the lion’s hangars, trying to puzzle out what had happened since he’d been taken.

Most of his memories of the last battle with Zarkon were hazy at best, his knowledge of how he’d ended up on a Galra base pretty much a mystery. Black had alluded to something, but Shiro hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

He knew that there had been some upheaval with the lions. Blue had rejected Lance, Red had taken Lance in, and Blue had simply not chosen another pilot since then. Her particle barrier remained up every time that he wandered through her hangar, some eerie energy seeming to float around the massive space.

Quite simply, it made him uneasy and he tended to move along quickly. 

Except for tonight.

Something was drawing him into the hangar - for once he didn’t feel the uneasy prickling along the back of his neck, or the odd energy that seemed thick enough to cut.

Shiro seated himself in front of the lion, staring up into her face curiously. The particle barrier showed no signs of going anywhere, nor did the lion show any signs of coming online. So to put it mildly, he felt a tad odd just sitting in a hangar in the middle of the night, looking up at the Blue Lion like they were re-enacting the Lion King opening credits or something.

(Sure, it had been a few years, but he was fairly certain that there was a scene like the one he made  _ somewhere _ in the damn film. He wasn’t imagining it.)

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked instead, opting for small talk. The sound of his own voice almost made him want to cringe, but there was something comforting about the sound of it bouncing off the walls. He could almost imagine that there was someone else in the room with him.

Allura had asked him to make an effort in creating a bond with the ancient entity. He probably should expect weird things to happen because of it.

Of course, he didn’t get an answer. Not that he’d expected one - the lions were finicky at the best of times with those who weren’t their pilots. Considering Blue was behind a barrier and clearly not online, Shiro figured his chances weren’t the greatest in this situation.

“You rejected Lance.” He led with instead, taking the opportunity to air some of his thoughts. “I never thought that could happen. He always seemed the most bonded out of any of us - even me and Black.”

He looked down at his hands, a dry huff escaping him. Black had chosen a new paladin now, content with their decision of Keith. He had taken to leadership as well as could be expected, he supposed. A spur of the moment decision condemning him to the same burden that he’d had under the helm of the “decisive head of Voltron”. The only difference was that Keith hadn’t seemed to crumble under the pressure, instead rising to the occasion despite every part of him that he’d always claimed would make him a terrible leader.

He wasn’t perfect, but neither had Shiro. All of them too young, too inexperienced, too irresponsible before being turned into the universe’s last hope against the Galra empire.

And there he’d been, right out of Galra captivity and reeling at the thought of going right back up into space.

Look at him now.

For a moment, he thought he felt something brush against his mind. Blinking, Shiro looked up at the Blue Lion, searching for any sign that it was online, before shaking his head. Not that staying up at all hours of the night was a good idea, but he could have sworn he’d felt that energy before.

-

Kolivan called Keith into the command deck during his last evening on the base, gaze solemn as he brought up the subject that no one had seemed eager to breach- the Red Lion.

“Regris has already debriefed and informed us in detail how they had had to leave the Red Lion behind. However, from his knowledge, they were unable to breach the barrier surrounding it, and therefore we can assume that no harm has come to it in the time since their escape.”

“But that leaves us another lion down if we can’t get her back.” Keith said, brows furrowing as he tried to think of what he knew of the base that Regris and Lance had been kept on. Not much, admittedly, though if Pidge were to get her hands on the intelligence that the Blades had, he was certain she would be able to come up with something. “The Blue Lion already rejected one pilot. We don’t have time to find another or even try to start looking without alerting every Galran ship in the universe about it.”

“No, we don’t.” Kolivan agreed, shifting his weight as both men fell into thought.

Finally, Kolivan sighed, sounding distinctly unimpressed with whatever conclusion he’d reached.

“The only two who happen to have knowledge of that base are neither cleared for active duty or able to return to that base without risking their lives. Knowledge or Death can only take us so far when our numbers begin to dwindle, and I am not particularly inclined to the thought of losing any more of our people.”

Keith was in full agreement with the statement.

“But that still doesn’t leave us with many options. I agree with Ulaz - there’s no way that Lance can go back into the field without at least talking to Ulaz so we can get a better idea of where his head’s at. Maybe the rest of the team, if we’re able. Always good to know what we’re dealing with.” He frowned. “I haven’t even told the team that Lance is alive, let alone here on the base.”

“Something that we agreed was for the best until we could determine his identity.” Kolivan pointed out. “And yet, I concur. You should reveal this information to the remainder of your paladins. Perhaps they will be able to shed some light on the situation. Your Green Paladin is rather intelligent.”

“She is.” Keith agreed. “But at this point I think they’d be more interested in tearing me apart for not telling them than being relieved that Lance is alive and… relatively okay.”

“If you wish, I could make the call.”

It was an offer, a tempting one at that, and Keith couldn’t help but nod. Call it another lapse in judgement, but he didn’t want to be responsible for yet another rift within their team. Regardless of what it could mean for everyone. He hadn’t even made up with Shiro yet, choosing to do the bare minimum and promise that they would talk later. But that hadn’t happened, considering that Kolivan had called him in shortly after.

“Please.” He relented. “As much as it  _ should _ be me, I don’t think I could face them.”

“It is not weakness to admit your fears, kit.” Kolivan assured quietly. “I will make the call. Though I suspect you’ll be dealing with quite a few messages on your communicator.”

He was definitely smiling that small, subtle grin of his as he said the last part, clearly enjoying Keith’s reaction to his words.

“I know.” He huffed, slumping. Pidge for sure would be blowing up the messaging function, provided she didn’t just hack into the damn thing and send him a very wordy video-message that would no doubt take several layers of skin off from the acidity of it alone. Hunk, definitely. Lance was one of his closest friends, essentially his brother, and while he’d be worried about Keith -  _ maybe  _ \- he would be very much so more oriented around Lance’s condition.

Keith still didn’t know what to think. It was hard to process that he’d found Shiro and then Lance had appeared out of nowhere too…

Granted, he and Keith were still purple and had more hair and larger ears than normal, but they were otherwise intact for the most part.

Again, Keith really didn’t want to start thinking about any and all of the psychological effects that Lance’s time with the Galra had left behind. Not until they’d managed to fight for some time to sort everything out.

Basically, they just had to finish off Zarkon and quite possibly Haggar for the last time and then take a damn vacation where Voltron wasn’t needed so the entire team could sort out their collective shit. Oh, yes, that idea did hold some merit. Now they just had to figure out how to get into Zarkon’s personal chambers to wipe out the apparently ailing ten thousand-year-old warlord without dying themselves, and the rest would be literal history!

This was why Kolivan was the leader of the Blades, and Keith just did as he was told.


	13. Chapter 13

The conference call with the paladins went about as well as Kolivan expected it would.

Allura was the most composed, though the advisor - Coran, he believed Keith had mentioned - had the claim to that title. The former Black Paladin looked marginally distressed at the news - something that he would need to inquire to Keith about later. The Yellow Paladin was relieved, of course, but it was the Green Paladin that he took his amusement from. She didn’t appear to know which emotion to settle upon, running through a mix of shock, disbelief, anger, relief, tears and back again.

However, it did end on a positive note - Kolivan transferred the location data to the Castle of Lions, informing them that the Red Lion was being kept there as the last known location.

The Green Paladin took to that information with a ferocity Kolivan recognized in all of the paladins to some degree, vanishing from the room with her fingers already tapping away furiously on her datapad. A re-purposed Galra drone appeared to be following close behind, lights a soft green.

“Do not hold this against Keith.” He noted finally. “It was my decision to disclose this information. We could not be certain that this was not a trap designed by the druids in order to put Voltron or the Blade of Marmora in danger.”

“We understand, Kolivan.” Allura said, ever the diplomat. “I just wish that the secrecy was not needed at all.”

“Princess.” He inclined his head, sensing the conversation over and ending the call with a tap of his finger.

What was curious to him were the odd claw-like scars on Shiro’s features. To his knowledge, the paladin had not sustained any injury during his rescue. But coupled with the new, dark mark on Keith’s neck and jaw, he could hazard a guess.

“Younglings.” He muttered tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

-

Pidge was holed up in her workshop when Hunk managed to corner her, a bowl of steaming purple noodle stir fry in his hands. Rover 2.0 beeped cheerfully in his direction, thus alerting Pidge, who barely turned to glance at him and mutter something that might have been positive.

“I brought you dinner.”

“Mhm.”

“You doing okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Keith turned pink and did the hula.”

“Mhm- wait.” She froze, blinking for several long moments before turning to glare at him. “That’s playing dirty.”

“Well, you obviously weren’t paying attention.” He shrugged unapologetically. “Find anything yet?”

She snarled something wordlessly, snatching the bowl of noodles from the table and beginning to eat it with a single-minded determination.

Leaning over her shoulder, Hunk squinted at the numbers and images flashing across the holographic screens Pidge had set up, recognizing only a couple lines and pictures before shaking his head.

“I’m going to take that as a no.”

Swallowing aggressively, Pidge pointed at one image that remained the same in the top corner- blurred, large, and camouflaged in the stars surrounding it.

“Other than a location, this is basically a Galra black site. I’ve only found four logs regarding it, and three of them are about their two high risk prisoners who were brought in and then escaped.” She said, spooning another mouthful of food in and ducking her head as she whined. Too hot, Hunk thought in exasperation as he rubbed circles on her back.

“Eat slower.” He admonished.

“Can’t. Gotta keep working.”

“Yeah, until you burn yourself from eating hot food too quickly.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, sizing up her odds at winning the argument, before huffing and returning to her food with a more reasonable appetite.

“So it’s a druid secret base?” Hunk inquired, looking around before pulling up a stool.

“Pretty much. It’s almost entirely off the system - the only contact they have with anyone outside of the base are other druids and a handful of high-ranking operatives they use as security or interrogators.” Pidge hummed, putting the bowl aside to tap lightning quick into a search bar. A moment later, several faces and files appeared, each of the Galra more intimidating or scarred than the last.

“Okay, so they basically employ the Hulk as their security guards.”

“Well, that’s not all. A base this large need other sources of supply. In more ways than one.”

Hunk winced at the implications. Druids tended to experiment on things, pull them apart to see how they worked before putting them back together in new, horrifying ways. Over time, they’d all seen some of the results. The least mangled usually tended to be the “pet projects”, saved for high-ranking Galra, or those that were in the Arena. After that, they tended to deteriorate. There had been missions for all of them where no one could be in the room with some of the poor, desolate creatures - putting them out of their misery the only option left.

Those were the missions that kept Hunk up at night, sometimes so vividly he almost forgot that it wasn’t happening all over again.

“So?”

“So, where are the rest of the soldiers on the base? How do they get transports in and out? Nothing about this place makes  _ sense _ , Hunk.” Pidge gestured. “There should be at least signs of some kind of sustainable living at the minimum if there’s crews working on board, but there’s  _ nothing _ . It’s like they just vanish.”

“It’s a druid base, right?”

“Yes, Hunk, I think we’ve just established that.”

“No. Pidge. Druids aren’t  _ normal _ .” He continued. “They don’t usually take ships or anything, they just appear and disappear.”

“Oh my god.” She breathed. “What if that’s literally why no activity happens around the base? Everything they need is somehow brought to them from the  _ inside _ .”

“Which means there has to be a secondary location that everything is brought to for transport.”

“And if we can find that, we have a chance at figuring out how to get the Red Lion back!”

They shared wide grins, fist bumping as Pidge hopped right back into her research, hands flying over the keys as Hunk brought up another new screen to copy the current data to look at. Two sets of eyes were better than one, after all.

-

Lance dug his heels into the holds on the wall, hauling himself up easily as he charted out the quickest route to the top of the room. His claws gave him an extra boost, digging into the slightly webbed feeling grips, but he still wasn’t terribly inclined to look down for the moment.

He could sense Antok close behind him, one massive hand grazing his ankle as he took a chance and leapt for a handhold a couple of feet higher than he had originally been anticipating. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought he hadn’t made it, finger tips slipping before his legs found themselves beneath him and pushed him the extra inch he needed to dig in and hold. Chest heaving, he paused, realizing that they’d already made it to the top of the training deck in record time.

Antok grunted from below him as he did the same, the pair taking a moment to catch their breath before they needed to scale the walls back down to the floor.

Lance revelled in the sensation of being so free. High above the floor, untouchable, confident in his own abilities for the first time in a long while.

He’d been enjoying spending time with the Blades, finally beginning to understand what Keith had found so enthralling. The sense of comradery, of family and pack and familiarity despite the dangers of the war looming over their head. The sense of belonging.

Granted, his sessions with Ulaz for concerns of his trauma were long and arduous to plough through, still not giving up much for the medic to go on. Lance couldn’t help it - he didn’t want to unpack that box, didn’t want to relieve the things that were still haunting him vividly and likely would continue to do so for the rest of his life. He wanted to, however selfishly, pretend that it hadn’t happened. Which, as Regris so often liked to tell him, wasn’t healthy. Not that he was one to talk - he liked to avoid Ulaz just as much, if for different reasons.

Antok grumbled at him, tapping his calf to get his attention before tilting his head, a curious trill leaving him. Something which contrasted so immensely with the image that the other Galra portrayed that Lance’s heart couldn’t help but soften at the sound.

Whoever said Galra were cold-hearted had obviously never heard one purr, trill, or blep before in their lives and they were seriously missing out. Granted, Lance now fell under that umbrella as well, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to discover exactly how many new sound effects he was capable of.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” He muttered back, looking over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t step on the larger Blade accidentally. “Race you to the bottom?”

He couldn’t see behind the ever-present mask, but he had a pretty good guess that Antok was smirking at him as he gave him a two fingered salute before immediately dropping several feet, Lance squeaking as he followed behind. Just because he was so much bigger and beefier did not mean he got to give Lance a freaking heart attack and just decide to  _ fall from the ceiling _ .

Which was almost exactly what he told him when they reached the bottom, Lance’s heart still pounding with anxiety  _ for _ Antok.

To which he was laughed at, a ruffle of his ears the only payout for being concerned for his well being.

See if he would do it again, the ass.

The thought that he might not if the paladins decided to take him back to the Castle of Lions left a hollow feeling in his chest. Sure, Keith hadn’t seemed inclined to do anything about the current living situation, but the second the rest of the team caught wind of it he was almost positive that Pidge would be banging down the door to take him back by force.

Discontent churned in his stomach at that thought.

He didn’t actually want to leave the Blades. Not yet, at the very least. Here there was little judgement of what he’d been through, enough professionalism bordering most interactions with others that he didn’t feel pitied or shamed or fussed over. Aside from the pack, but that was because Regris had claimed him as pack and everyone else had just gone along with it. Granted, Lance would admit that he was pretty close with Regris, what with everything that they’d been through together. They’d learned a lot about one another, and in Lance’s eyes, that meant they were practically family.

Antok though… well, he was another matter. A messy, irritating, conundrum of a puzzle that his brain and his heart couldn’t currently sort out between themselves.

He didn’t judge him for the lapses in his attention, or the nightmares, the odd twitchiness or wariness when some days were worse. In only a matter of weeks he’d managed to get behind almost every boundary that Lance had set, and didn’t demand anything in return other than companionship. For that matter, the companionship was more for Lance’s benefit than anything else, the silence alone enough to drive his anxiety skyward. Too reminiscent of the empty cell and his thoughts.

Their nesting arrangement usually included Antok covering Lance’s back, the pair waking to find themselves curled into one another. Lance suspected that was more on his end, with the remnants of his clingy cuddling coming to light, but Antok never said anything about it so neither did he.

It was  _ frustrating _ .

What was he, a simple blushing schoolgirl because someone was actually treating him like a decent human being? (Okay, less human nowadays, but the point was there).

And then there had been the  _ Sparring Incident _ .

Noted as such because of the complete and utter failure of a human being Lance’s brain had become and shorted out.

To recap, however:

It had been one of the sleepless nights. One of the ones where Lance was unable to find sleep despite his best efforts, and even Regris and Antok’s quiet purring in the dark room hadn’t been enough to lull him back into a sense of security.

Having become rather familiar with the layout of the base since his arrival, Lance took to the lesser used halls, shaking out his shoulders and trying to chase off whatever lingering prickle of danger was falsely going off at the base of his neck. Which, as it turned out, were almost hackles at this point with some of the extra hair - fur? - involved.

There were a few windows - nothing quite as grand as the Castle of Lions, but there was a small viewing deck where the entire wall of the room was comprised of windows to the space surrounding the headquarters. Most of it was a swirling myriad of color from the weird alternate dimension thing that they were hidden in, but from time to time he could catch a glimpse of deep skies and the flickering of stars if he was patient enough.

The pale colors were enough to remind him of home. Of Earth, with its oceans and forests and sunsets comprised of cotton candy pinks and violets, of the orange sundress his mama used to wear when he was a child and dance around the kitchen with her children while they made breakfast. Vibrant, beautiful colors that did nothing save remind him just how far from home he was now.

Seating himself cross legged in front of one of the windows, he slumped forward, palms digging into his eyes as he tried to will himself to get tired again.

Insomnia was to be expected, Ulaz had warned him. Many who had gone through similar circumstances found themselves constantly on alert without realizing it. He’d also offered some herbal teas with aids in them, but Lance had declined, wary from his prior experiences with drugs of any kind.

He inhaled deeply, trying to work some of the tension out of himself.

Failing, but gold star for effort, Lance.

So deeply he had been consumed by his thoughts, he’d failed to notice that Antok had followed him until he felt the tap on his shoulder, and then all hell had broken loose. By some miracle of God, Lance had, in a single movement, somehow gotten onto his feet, grabbed Antok’s arm, and heaved him over his shoulder and halfway across the room.

Or, that had been what his brain had thought out.

In reality, he had fulfilled part one and two, but step three had been impeded by Antok grabbing onto Lance as he tried to throw him, which only successfully managed to roll the pair of them into a wrestling match on the floor.

After the first few moments, his brain snapped back into present, and then they were simply rolling around and snapping at each other, loose hands batting at one another as Lance finally managed to pin the larger of the pair to the floor. The position, he knew, was not ideal for several reasons, but he managed to keep most of the embarrassment off his features as he stared down at the mask that never seemed to leave Antok’s features.

His stance softened slightly, feeling that stupid fond expression work its way onto his face without willing it to, a hand reaching out to do something. Poke his face, cup his cheek, he didn’t know - his brain had left the building and taken 99% of his inhibition with it, apparently.

Before he could make the final decision himself, Antok leaned into the touch, one hand carefully moving to retract the mask.

_ He’s a lot younger than I thought,  _ was the first thing to cross his mind as he took in Antok’s visage. It suited him - of course it would, it was his face,  _ get it together, Lance! - _ but what stood out to him most distinctly was the heavy line of scarring from one side of his face down, crossing from the scalp on the left across his right eye and down his neck. Having seen similar scarring before, he could tell that the eye was blind, but the Antok watched his reactions cautiously.

He had more of the in between markings and textures than Lance, cheek warm and almost leathery under his palm, but growing softer and fluffier the closer to his large, broad ears it came. And just because he couldn’t help himself, his traitorous hand ran lightly along the edge of one, just to see if it was as fluffy as it looked.

It was.

The soft amber gaze fixed on him was firm as Antok rumbled, a glimpse of sharp canines visible as he continued to twist his head, nipping at Lance’s palm gently.

And, okay, that did things he didn’t know were a thing, but he had slightly more self control than that. So instead, he offered a quirk of his lips, a silent understanding that neither of them would say anything for.

So yes, one could say that Lance’s brain had been conflicted since then.

And now with Keith leaving again in the morning, he felt that indecision raise its ugly head. Even after all this was over, and the Red Lion was back in the paladins’ care, would he want to return?

-

Keith’s departure was quiet the next morning, the only ones awake at the ungodly hour the same pack he’d been nesting with for the duration of his stay. Kolivan and Thace fussed in their own special ways of course, Ulaz’s exasperation one of the only things keeping things even vaguely professional as Regris and Antok ruffled his ears and made their usual banter. Lance was hanging behind, but he offered Keith a genuine smile and a shooing motion with his hand.

“Go get ‘em, Samurai.” He mouthed.

Keith and Regris had been up for several hours trying to put together an idea of what the layout of the base would be in order to get the Red Lion back as quickly and safely as possible, but had come up dry with most of the questions. He’d been wiped shortly after arriving, so however they entered the ship was unlikely to be the same on that he’d staged an escape from. Likewise, most of the intelligence he’d been able to collect while on board suggested that it hadn’t initially been designed for druid use primarily. Likely, it had been a prison or some other such building, with later advancements and security added so that things like escape would be nigh impossible.

But obviously not foolproof, considering the evidence.

Then had come Pidge’s call on the communicator, which in some ways had further proven some of the theories that they had tossed around, but he’d need to get back to the castle before he would be able to sit down and discuss the ideas they had.

He nodded in Lance’s direction as he climbed back into the Altean pod he’d arrived in, several new chips of data downloaded for Pidge’s perusal once he arrived at the Castle of Lions. It felt good, knowing that Lance was somewhere where he would be able to be happy and recover. Not that the castle couldn’t be that for him, but it seemed more natural for him to be standing near the rest of their pack.

He closed up the door, entering in the coordinates and trying not to look back at the pack he was leaving behind. Keith so rarely got to visit the Blades now that he’d become the Black Paladin, and having the few extra days to himself and being able to reconnect with everyone had been a balm for all of the pressure he’d been under. Or rather, that he’d put onto himself.

Hands on the controls, he latched onto his connection with Black, soothing himself with the gentle reassurance that they would see the others again soon.


	14. Chapter 14

“Well, I think we can all agree that this is going to end badly.” Lance muttered to himself as he struggled into the Blade uniform that had been tossed at him by Thace on the way by their den, barking something about moving out soon.

Regris looked relaxed, as he usually did, though he had gotten dressed in his uniform with an aggression that spoke to how unsettled the upcoming battle was making him. Lance agreed wholeheartedly. Going back to that hole of misery and despair was one thing, but willingly doing so for the greater good was something he was going to be demanding awards for once the war was over.

His fingers shook as he grabbed the sniper rifle that Keith had managed to get him from the castle’s armory, suspecting that he was going to be involved with the mission but not saying a damn word to the rest of the team because Lance had threatened him within an inch of his life if he did.

Besides, he was the Red Paladin - how else were they supposed to find his girl without him on scene to redirect?

The weight settled familiarly in his grip - he’d used countless numbers of them in training should he ever be without his bayard - it was likely still somewhere near Red, if the druids hadn’t managed to get into her barrier. He doubted it, considering that this was round two of being stuck behind enemy lines, but there was always that nagging thought at the back of his mind.

It had been the better part of a year since everything had happened, and quite frankly, there were some mornings where Lance thought that all of this was some messed up dream. That he’d wake up on the Castle of Lions and everything would continue as it always had. But those days were, he thought in amusement, past him now.

He’d been, for the foreseeable future, stationed on base with the Blades. In part due to the fact that Voltron was a lion and therefore a paladin down, and despite the constant chatter between communicators he wasn’t sure if he was ready to return to being a paladin full time yet, if ever.

“You’ll be fine.” Regris said, catching the stare and the shift in his shoulders as he slung the weapon over his shoulder, adding to the collection a handful of small energy blades down one leg and a longer knife in his boot. Another small hand held blaster was holstered at his hip, a second on his thigh. “Antok and I have your back, and you know the paladins aren’t going to let anything happen to you either.”

His ears flicked as he pulled the hood up over his ears, activating the mask and shivering as the still unfamiliar sensation sent a prickle down the back of his neck.

“It’s what happened last time. I think I’m entitled to say it again.” He said dryly, slowly twisting to look at himself in the unfamiliar uniform. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just odd to be in such clingy clothing. Granted, it was extremely comfortable and easy to move around in, but he wouldn’t just wear it out and about for no reason. He wasn’t that brave. “Hopefully this time, nothing goes wrong.”

“I dunno. You weren’t so bad as a cellmate.” Regris shrugged, a quirk to his lips as he flipped his hood up, mask concealing whatever other face he might have made in Lance’s direction.

“Shut up.” He muttered, shaking his head. “You ready to go rescue a giant cosmic sentient lion and restore order to the universe?”

“Oh, I might have some time today.” Regris drawled, bumping Lance’s hip and catching him in the calf with his tail. “First we’ve got to get ourselves turned in to be lectured by our esteemed leader.”

“Which one? Leader, Thace, or Ulaz?”

“All of them, I’m afraid. You know Ulaz is going to want to clear us  _ again _ before letting us off base.”

“Very true.”

It was a small thing, but their bantering was enough to relax Lance as they fist bumped and fell into step, making their way down to the command deck for a final brief. Kolivan would be sending Thace out as head of the operation for the Blade, himself and Ulaz staying behind with several other blades in order to keep everything in check.

-

Despite no one able to see him doing it, Lance saluted the Lions as they flew by the Blades and their ship. With the team as strong as they were now, they had taken the most direct route possible to the druid’s base, the wormhole from the Castle of Lions aiding in the best of ways and saving more than enough time, depositing the paladins and the Blades behind a small planet not far from the base.

Even being so near to it now sent Lance’s pulse into overdrive, unwelcome thoughts beginning to intrude back into his mind as he remained behind the pilot’s seat. Thace remained silent, his features set in stone as he activated his mask, tapping at the coordinates that they had been given. Two Blades had been sent to the secondary location in an attempt to infiltrate the base from the contact point those in the base had with the outside world. Lance prayed that it was no one that he knew.

_ “Everyone ready?” _

Pidge’s voice was as crisp as ever, her age not deterring her in the least from being one of the smartest in the room. She and Hunk had almost single-handedly figured out the best ways that they were going to get into the base without everyone dying - which, big plus on all accounts. However, as with every plan, it wasn’t without risk. Shiro was still new at piloting the Blue Lion, regardless of how that had come to be. They were missing the final lion needed to form Voltron - another strike against them.

_ But _ , they did have an advantage in that they had an idea of what they were walking into. And surely, once they were close enough the Red Lion would sense her paladin and return to battle?

That was the hope and general assumption that everyone had made, but Lance still harbored some doubts about that part. Keith had had to be blown out of an airlock to get her to raise her barrier and rescue his ass. Lance had been rejected by Blue and they were in a crisis when Red had chosen him.

Basically, everything was a clusterfuck and today was probably going to turn into hell in a handbasket.

“Team Sharpshooter is a go.” He replied in affirmation to the roll call, focusing his eyes on the horizon and breathing in deep. “Good luck out there, Green.”

Unfortunately, most of Lance’s instincts were correct.

__

-

There was barely a moment to think as Antok moved, diving to protect Lance even as shrapnel pelted into his back. The spire that they were on, suspended high above the base below them, cracked and shattered beneath its own weight, throwing them wildly to one side.

Lance was terrified as he held onto Antok’s wrist, eyes blown wide even behind the mask of the suit. His arm in Antok’s hold had wrenched his shoulder out of the joint, leaving him holding on by sheer willpower alone.

“You know, I hate to say it, but I told you so.” He finally grit out, daring to look down at the empty space underneath his feet. “Today was just not my day.”

The deep rumbling of a tractor beam starting up did not bode well for either of them. Lance couldn’t help but think that if there was one thing he couldn’t allow, it was having someone he loved dragged into this with him. Not if it played out the way he suspected it would.

Even as he watched, the grip on the metal of the ship gave even further beneath their combined weight, Antok snarling wordlessly as he tried to adjust under the weight of his own frame and Lance, who was struggling to cling on with the roar of the tractor beam behind him and the fire racing through his veins and his shoulder.

“You’ve gotta let me go, big guy.” Lance pleaded. He could feel the hot prickling of tears as his shoulder jerked under the strain of holding on, stifling the whine of pain that wanted to tear itself from his throat.

Antok growled, baring his teeth at the thought. He would let go once they had pried his cold dead claws from the metal, and no sooner than that.

Around them, explosions continued to burst, the lions of Voltron racing by in streaks of color amongst the violent purple the Galra seemed to favor. Amongst them, Blue was flying as perfectly as the last time Lance had seen her, Shiro new in the pilot’s seat. Which was great, fantastic for him. He deserved to be there, even with the residual jealousy rearing its head that he had been enough for the lion and yet Lance had been rejected.

The rock and metal under Antok’s hand jerked, causing Lance to sway under his grip. The second time, he was unable to help the aborted cry that ripped from him, feeling like his arm was going to be torn completely off.

“Lance!”

Their eyes sought one another’s out, and despite himself Lance couldn’t help the lopsided grin at how much it reminded him of every cheesy movie he’d ever seen back on Earth. Or maybe it was just delirium from the pain. Either way, he couldn’t help but feel like he loved the other Galra with so much of himself that it hurt.

“Hey Antok.” He tried instead, forcing his mouth to form the words he needed to make his point.

Antok grunted, shoulders beginning to tremble despite his best efforts to keep them both stable. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer either, as much as his brain was telling him that he had to. Still, he turned his head, facing Lance as he shuddered, bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Love you.” He mouthed, using the last of his strength to heave himself up enough to press his mouth against Antok’s palm.

A moment later he was gone, lingering touch burning against his wrist despite the layer of fabric that had separated them.

The dark light of the beam illuminated every edge of the paladin as he free fell, caught in the line of fire directly. Time seemed to slow. Every moment of grief that sunk into Antok’s bones as he screamed in rebellion into empty space.

_ Not again. _

  
  
  


-

“He’s going to be fine.” 

The lights were dim in the med bay. Regris was curled next to Antok as they watched Lance’s resting features; Regris had almost entirely disregarded his seat in favor of latching onto Antok’s side like a leech. Green Paladin Pidge had mentioned the term sometime during transport following returning Lance to the base for emergency treatment. The Princess and the rest of the paladins had tried arguing for the healing pods, but given their prior knowledge of Lance’s experiences with small spaces, it had ultimately been decided against. 

(Ulaz was also present and nearly foaming at the mouth to hear that the paladin turned pack member had been injured again, and Kolivan was not risking his partner’s wrath for the sake of a healing pod.)

The details on how Lance had escaped from the tractor beam were still unknown, one of the Blade ships picking him up out of empty space. His vitals were reading strangely, so Ulaz had him brought to the med bay and hours later, here they were. 

Antok growled, ears pinned back at the thought that he had almost lost the youngling.  _ His  _ youngling. Stupid, irresponsible,  _ death defying _ youngling who had had the audacity to pull such a stunt in the middle of battle and pretend that it was nothing, while his world turned on its head.

Galra did not use so many words in their courting. Actions spoke louder than words - and Antok was a being of few words and many actions. He found Lance to be much the same, contrary to Keith’s personal view on the matter. 

Regris bumped his cheek against Antok’s chin, trilling curiously when he didn’t get a response. 

“He’ll be fine.” he repeated, eyes watching him carefully. “We’ve made it out of worse.”

“Hn.” 

He adjusted himself in his seat, twisting slightly to allow Regris more room. 

He would be having words with his paladin once he awoke. But for now, he was content to watch over him, his kit at his side and creating a gentle warmth that soothed him enough that his eyes lidded, a low purr rumbling from his chest. 

All was well.


End file.
